


The Song of the Bird and the Hound

by Sunnytyler001



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: AU, F/M, trueknight!Sandor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-11-27
Updated: 2011-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-26 14:26:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 23,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/284321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunnytyler001/pseuds/Sunnytyler001
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Story written for the comment fic meme on the sanxsan community on LJ. Here was the prompt:Sandor and Sansa grow up together. Sansa is still born of House Tully and Stark, there is drama and intrigue and Sandor still gets his scar from his horrid brother</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Once upon a time, in a land of snow and ice, there were two children, a boy and a girl. They were the same age.

The girl was the daughter of Eddard Stark, lord of the castle. She was a beautiful little thing with blue eyes and auburn hair, just like her mother's and she was called Sansa.

The boy was born in the castle too, as he was born second son the Captain of the guards and he was called Sandor. Everybody said that, when he grew up, he would be one of the tallest men of the kingdom, almost as tall as his elder brother, Gregor.

The children played together, pretending that Sandor was a valiant knight and Sansa his fair lady. They both loved songs more than anything and in their innocence, both believed that if they wished hard enough, dreams could come true.

Sometimes, Sansa's little sister, Arya, would come and play too. She dueled with Sandor, pretending to a dragon or a dark knight, wanting to devour lady Sansa. Ariadne, Sandor's sister, would be the good fairy, helping the two heroes to get their happy ending.

And every time, Sandor won. And it was good this way, even for Arya. After all, the boy was supposed to be the white knight. And white knights always won, didn't they?

However, they didn't know that a dark knight was waiting in the shadows, watching their games.

Gregor was not small and not easily able to hide, but he did know how to hunt his prey.

And was there a lovelier prey than a pretty little bird?

At thirteen and after two years as a squire, considered himself as a man. A man with a man's needs.

The girl was only six but Gregor didn't seem to care.

He often thought of charming little Sansa and of all the things he could do to her.

His idiot of a brother was too young to understand all this. And if he dare stop him from getting what he wanted, he'd crush him like the worm he was.

One night, Sansa, Sandor and Ariadne were playing near the fireplace. Arya had been punished for playing with sticks and had not been allowed to join in.

Gregor decided it was the right moment. There was no adult, except Sansa's old septa. He wanted the lord's daughter and he would have her.

He barged in the room, heading directly for his prey .The terror was obvious on the girls' faces. Sandor stood up, ready to confront his brother.

Septa Mordane ran to the boy's aid, but Gregor, already strong as an ox, took the poor old woman by the collar and threw her against the wall.

Concerned only for his friends, Sandor leapt on his brother's back and started kicking him with his the strength as Gregor turned on Sansa.

With a smooth move, Gregor spun and succeeded in grabbing his opponent. His steel grip on his brother's neck would surely leave marks. Good. The boy needed a lesson, Gregor thought darkly.

But as Sandor kept on struggleing, trying to defend himself, Gregor decided strangling him was not enough. From the corner of his eye, he saw the glowing embers of the fire.

Sansa and Ariadne had both run from the room to find a grown up. As the girls met one of Sansa's father bannermen, Rodrick Cassel, they started explaining to him what had happened.

Suddenly, a terrible scream tore up the night.

"Sandor!" said Sansa. The little girl felt her heart stopping in her chest. If anything happened to him, it would be her fault, she thought.

Not waiting for her friend or for her father's bannerman, Sansa started to run back to the room. She needed to be with him, even if it was dangerous. The knight's duty was to defend his lady. But what if the knight got killed by the monster? What then?

When Sansa entered in the room, the first thing that struck her was the sickening smell. Her head felt dizzy and her knees began to shake.

And then she saw him. Her poor knight, lying on the ground. She ran to his side while Gregor made a move to grab her. However, Rodrick Cassel had arrived and put his sword to the squire's neck.

"I don't think so, young man" the bannerman said as Gregor grunted in defeat.

"Sandor?" Sansa said softly as she was approaching him.

He was lying on his side, his face hidden from her. The little girl touched her friend's arm, trying to comfort him.

Some people were coming in, possibly her parents, more guards and Maester Luwin.

But all Sansa cared about was the boy lying in front of her. She was afraid to see whatever his monster of a brother had done to him.

"Lady Sansa?" Maester Luwin's soft voice startled her, interrupting her thoughts. "May I?"

Shaking, Sansa gave her place to the wise old man. Surely, he'd take care of her friend better than she might have.

When Maester Luwin turned Sandor's body to look at his face, Sansa felt dizzy again.

Half of his face had been destroyed, his features burned away.

The little girl felt tears running down her cheeks as her mother held her in a warm embrace.

The songs were wrong. In real life, the monsters won.


	2. Chapter 2

Five years later, some things had changed at Winterfell.

First of all, Gregor Clegane, Sandor's brother, had been sent away. As he was already as tall as a mountain, House Lannister had decided to welcome him as a squire.

Arthur Clegane, the boys' father, was quite happy about this, even if he could barely hide the shame his son's acts had caused to him.

Even if Maester Luwin had done all he could, Sandor would be dreadfully scarred for the rest of his life. During his convalescence, his sister Ariadne and the lady Sansa had taken turns at his bedside.

Lady Catelyn, Sansa's mother, was touched by her daughter's devotion to her friend. But sometimes, it worried her too. This bond Sansa and Sandor seemed to share was lovely, however she feared the way it would evolve with the years passing and the two children growing up.

And they had indeed grown up. Sandor was a huge as his brother had been at his age. With his grey eyes and his dark hair, there was no doubt he was a Northerner, from head to feet.

He trained in the courtyard from the early hours of dawn to the darkest hours of the evening. Yet, he still found some time to take a little break when lady Sansa came to admire his new progress. She often brought with her some lemoncakes and shared them with him only.

Sandor's face was maybe ugly now, but he was still Sansa's knight and her future champion. After all, he was barely eleven and he was already one of the best fighters in Winterfell. He could defeat her brothers and even some of the men in the Lord Eddard's guard.

Lord Greatjon Umber had already noticed his strength and there were rumours he had asked Arthur Clegane for the permission to take his son as squire the next year. Sandor was quite excited by the idea and so was Sansa.

Sandor would become a true knight, fierce and invincible, and all their dreams would become true.

Lately, Sansa had noted that Sandor's voice was changing. It was becoming graver, lower. It was very different from the singers she so much loved, but the girl had to admit she quite liked it. A man's voice was supposed to sound this way, like the sound of the wind in the mountain, like the voice of her father.

It was actually a very nice voice, very soothing. Sansa decided she liked listening to him even more now.

However, one day, as Sandor had done a very good job during the practice, Theon Greyjoy, Lord Stark's ward, invited the boy and Sansa's half-brother Jon Snow to visit one of his friends, a woman called Ros.

The day after this visit, Sandor acted strangely. Suddenly, he didn't want to be called a boy anymore.

Also, when Sansa gave him his usual favour for fighting so well during the practice- a piece of lemoncake- he pulled a face.

"What's wrong?" the young girl asked with worry. Sandor used to love lemoncakes as much as she did.

"Real knights don't get lemoncakes as favours" Sandor replied "You know, Theon said that, after last night, I was a man. So I get to claim true favours, right?"

Sansa was startled. He had a point, she supposed. But what in the Mother's name had happened the night before that made Sandor pretend he is a man and change his habits?

"Aye, Ser Sandor, you can claim something else if you want." said Sansa "What did you have in mind?"

After all, it was true than in the songs, the knights never got lemoncakes from their ladies. They always asked their beloved for ribbons or even for a lock of their hair.

It was all very romantic but Sansa thought lemoncakes were a lot better. And tastier.

"I want a kiss" Sandor said with a lot of self-assurance.

Sansa was a bit shocked by such a request. This was quite improper. Her first kiss should have been for her husband. But, on the other hand, Sandor was to be her sworn shield. And in the best songs, the lady always kissed her champion after he defeated the monster and saved her from a great peril.

Sandor had slain no dragon yet- and he never would as the poor beasts were all dead. But there would still be enough dangers surrounding Sansa- men like Gregor- for Sandor to deserve a kiss.

This could be a sort of rehearsal. Sansa started to bite her lips nervously while looking at Sandor's face. Part of his mouth had been destroyed by the burns. How would his half burned lips feel against hers?

Sansa felt herself blushing as she saw Sandor's eyes looking at her intently. He had never looked at her like that.

It was strange, really. But her body's reaction to her friend's gaze was even stranger. How her heart seemed to beat faster in her chest, how she was beginning to feel warmer everywhere.

The girl decided she actually liked the sensation very much.

"All right, you may kiss me. But I've never kissed anyone. Do you know how to?" Sansa said.

Sandor seemed very amused by her question as he started to laugh.

"Aye, Lady Sansa, I know how to now. Ros showed me."

"Ros?" asked Sansa "Who is Ros?"

Another girl had kissed her Sandor? Sansa thought with disappointment. She didn't even understand why this idea displeased her so much.

"Theon's friend. I told you we visited her with Jon last night. She taught us a few things. Well, she didn't teach a lot to Jon, but I wasn't as picky as him." said Sandor, visibly satisfied by his memories.

Sansa frowned. What did he mean by "a few things"? Was there something else besides kissing?

Sandor turned towards Sansa and the girl felt his gaze burning her.

"I just want a kiss from you, as a favour. Nothing else." Sandor continued, his hand on her arm.

The little girl looked into her friend's grey eyes and the strange sensation of warmth she had already experienced invaded her once again.

Sansa swallowed nervously and nodded.

"Very well" she said in agreement "I guess it is better this way. I will have more lemoncakes for myself!"

Tenderly, Sandor smiled and lowered his face to hers.

When their lips met softly, Sansa felt her heart pounding madly once again. Sandor's right hand was slowly caressing her cheek and her hair while his left seized her waist and brought her closer to him.

If this was a kiss, then Sansa decided it was nearly as good as lemoncakes. It felt heavenly. Had she ever felt better, safer, warmer than in Sandor's arms?

She couldn't wait to be married to get more. But then, the kisses wouldn't be Sandor's. At the thought, Sansa started to feel cold.

No, even if it was right in the songs, even if it felt right here and now, they shouldn't be doing this.

Reluctantly, Sansa pushed away from Sandor's embrace, her eyes locked with his. Then, she turned her back and ran away, hoping he would never dare ask such a favour from her again.

But the two friends didn't know that a young handmaiden had witnessed the whole scene. The girl went straight to the lady Catelyn and told her what she was seen.

At first, Lady Catelyn had wanted to send the boy in exile, as they had done with his brother. But it was only a kiss. And, after all, this was her fault. She had accepted Sansa and Sandor's friendship for far too long. Sansa was pretty and loved knights. Sandor looked awful but he would certainly become a great knight. This kiss was meant to happen, sooner or later. Now, it was time to put an end to it before something much worse happened. Sansa was so young but soon, she would become one of the most beautiful maids in Westeros. She wouldn't let her daughter waste her potential on a disfigured knight.

Sansa could become a queen- and she would if Eddard agreed to give her to the Prince Joffrey Baratheon. The lady of Winterfell didn't like the young prince as she didn't like his mother but the sooner Sansa left Winterfell and Sandor Clegane, the better it would be.


	3. Chapter 3

When she heard of her future wedding with Prince Joffrey, Sansa was torn between excitement and sadness. Excitement at the idea of becoming a queen and sadness because she knew she would have to leave Winterfell and all her friends.

Well, maybe Jeyne Poole and Ariadne could come with her to King's landing, she thought. But Sandor? He would soon become Greatjon Umber's squire and there was no way the old Northerner would ever want to go to the South.

Mostly, she tried not to think of the wondrous feeling of Sandor's lips on hers or how good she had felt in his arms.

They would have to say goodbye.

The simple thought made Sansa's heart break. She had never parted ways with her childhood friend before. He had always been there for her, just as she had been for him.

Was this what they called "growing up"? Sansa wasn't sure she liked it.

But who knew? Maybe in a few years, when she was queen and Sandor was officially a knight, she would be able to ask her husband to call her friend and let him enter his service. He could even become her sworn shield as they always wanted.

Their dreams could still become true. Or so she hoped.

As the king came to visit his friend Lord Eddard, his queen Cersei Lannister and her house accompanied him.

When Sandor learnt his brother had been made a knight, he felt anger rising inside of him. Only Sansa's hand in his seemed to quiet him.

It was all a mistake, she had told him. Or maybe House Lannister was just stupid, Arya had added. Sansa would have never dared call House Lannister "stupid", but the fact was that they had accepted this monster in their ranks while knowing what he was capable of.

Gregor was no true knight. Sandor would become one, sooner or later, and he'd defeat his brother. Sansa was sure about this.

And once she was a princess, she would see that Gregor got what he deserved. She'd make her knights throw him into a dark cell and he would have to stay there until Sandor was old enough to defeat him.

Sansa was glad that dreadful boy wasn't there. He would have spoiled her day.

And what a wonderful day it had been!

She had met the king, the queen, the queen's brother and the prince she was supposed to marry, Joffrey.

The girl's first thought was that he looked very handsome, just like the princes did in the songs. Surely, someone as handsome was meant to be gallant and gentle. But then, Sansa reasoned, Sandor was not handsome and he was really quite nice.

Sansa petted her direwolf Lady and smiled. Sandor and Lady had some common points actually. They were big, and fluffy and they would be always there to protect her.

Except she couldn't bring Sandor with her to King's Landing. She sighed as the sad thought crossed her mind again.

She wished she had Lady five years ago when Gregor had attacked them. Lady would have devoured him and Sandor wouldn't have those ugly scars on his face.

The days went by faster than the girl would have wanted. Everything was settled without her making any decision for her own future. This frustrated Sansa a little, but she was glad Jeyne Poole could at least come with her.

Sandor seemed to have disappeared during the royal court's stay in the castle. Sansa had a lot to do, of course. She had to keep company to the royal children. However, as royal as they were, Sansa had to confess she longed for Sandor's company and their games.

Maybe it was time for her to accept that her friend and Wintefell belonged to her childhood. She was to marry Prince Joffrey now. Soon, she would be seen by all as an adult and as a future queen.

Sansa's heart broke a little as she looked through by the window at the landscape she knew so well and loved so much. The mountains, the sacred trees… They didn't have all that in the South. But they had fierce knights and their beautiful ladies, just like in the songs.

She would miss her old life, but it would surely be worth it. Wouldn't it?

Days later, as she was ready to leave her home for good, Sansa saw her friend practicing in the courtyard.

With Lady by her side, she ran to him, tears in her eyes. She couldn't leave without saying goodbye. He was her oldest friend after all.

But Sandor seemed to ignore her, his attention trained on his opponent. Sansa didn't dare go near him, as he had a sword in his hand and she didn't want to distract him.

Why in the maiden's name didn't he want to talk to her anymore? There might be years before they see each other again. They had to say their farewells.

However, Lady was braver than her. She went straight to the boy and jumped on him, making him fall in a puddle of mud.

Sandor had dropped his sword and started to yell at Lady, shouting insults Sansa wouldn't dare repeat. But when the direwolf began to lick the mud off his face, he laughed and petted her.

In front of this scene, Sansa took the first important decision of her own. She loved both Sandor and Lady. And, even if it felt like tearing off one of her own members, she had to admit a direwolf had no place in the South. Even one as well behaved as Lady.

Besides, Sandor would not be alone. He'd have her direwolf and would think of her each time he took care of her.

Her father had said that those animals were part of them. Well, if she couldn't stay at Winterfell with her friend, Lady would be still there, with him.

Sansa smiled at the thought as she knelt to caress her pet.

"May I ask you for a favour, Sandor?" she asked softly.

But he didn't look at her. He was back on his feet, ready to fight again.

This time, however, Sansa didn't let him go away. She grabbed his hand, her little fingers cold on his warm wrist.

"Please, Sandor, hear me. I have to go and…"

"And what?" he said, interrupting her "Go then, just go to the buggering South. You will be happy there, with your prince"

Sansa didn't understand why he was so angry. It was always part of their dream that she would be a princess and he a knight.

"I've seen him. Blonde and handsome, wearing fine clothes. And, better, no scars on his pretty face." Sandor added darkly.

He nearly sounded jealous, thought Sansa. Spontaneously, she took Sandor in her arms and held him tightly. Of course, she had to marry prince Joffrey. Of course, she would be a perfect wife to him, as her mother and her septa taught her. But, even if it was not totally proper, Sandor would always be in her heart. He would be her first knight, her champion.

"Keep Lady with you and take good care of her, please." Sansa whispered in his ear.

Sandor was startled by such a request, but nodded. He wanted nothing more than keep her in his arm and kiss her as he once did before the king had arrived at Winterfell.

Lady had seemed to understand her mistress' decision as she didn't follow her once Sansa had turned her back on both of them.

Sandor kept on watching the horizon until the royal cortege became a little point and disappeared from the landscape, following the King's road, going South, far from Winterfell, far from him.

The boy felt his knees hit the ground and Lady moaned slightly, pushing her fur under his hands, obviously wanting to comfort him as she wanted to be comforted by him.


	4. Chapter 4

When a letter from Sansa reached Winterfell and Sandor heard of its contents, Sandor knew something was wrong.

The girl asked her brother Robb to bent the knee and accept her betrothed Joffrey as his king.

Sandor knew Robb Stark well enough to know he would never do it. Sansa would be in trouble. Wasn't she already? Sandor felt anger rise inside him as he thought of the way the Lannister guards might have treated her. If they had dared lay a single finger on her, he would tear them apart.

By his side, Lady seemed to be nervous. The direwolf had started to yelp and bark in the middle of the night, not letting him sleep for a single moment.

Sandor had been angry back then, but when he touched the animal, he had felt a huge sadness and fear invading him. Had he dreamed this or had it really happened? They said direwolves and their masters shared a special bond- were those Sansa's feelings Lady had shared with him?

He should have acted back then. He might have won two days. Two days that might have saved Sansa from the Lannisters.

Not wasting another minute, Sandor went straight to his room and grabbed a bag into which he began carelessly stuffing clothes.

A powerful voice behind his back startled him.

"Going somewhere, boy?"

Sandor had not expected Greatjon Umber to follow him, or to guess his intentions.

The boy sighed in defeat and dropped his bag on his bed before turning in his lord's direction.

"I'm going to King's Landing. Sansa needs me."

Greatjon shacked his head and chuckled.

"First, my boy, it's Lady Sansa. Try to remember this. Second…" The old wolf's eyes met his squire's in a moment of total honesty.

"Who tells you she needs you in particular?" asked Greatjon Umber.

"She is danger, my lord, and you know that as well as me." Sandor's fists were firmly tightened and his eyes were shining.

Greatjon knew that nothing would stop his squire from his desperate rescue mission. Besides, everyone knew Sandor's feelings for Lord Eddark's first daughter.

The impulsiveness of his young age and his love for the young lady would most likely push him to act recklessly, to listen to his heart instead of his head, but as a Northern hot-blooded veteran himself, Greatjon couldn't blame him for trying, at least.

"All right, boy. But I think you're gonna need this." the old wolf said, while unsheathing his sword and holding it out to his squire.

Mesmerized by the huge shining weapon, Sandor swallowed, not daring touching it. The boy raised his head to Greatjon Umber, his eyes asking for permission to take the sword.

"Yes, it's my sword, boy. I never told you her name, did I?" the old wolf asked, obviously amused by the admiration of the young boy.

Sandor shook his head negatively. All swords had a name, of course, but he had never dared ask for it. Hell, Lord Umber hadn't even wanted him to touch it when he had asked if he could polish it as part of his job.

"Her name is Juvellia. It means 'happy' in the language of the Old days, when the Starks were kings in the North. And by the old gods, is she happy to find a good fight when she's got one!" Greatjon continued, his mind wandering, lost in his memories of tales of glorious times for the North.

"Won't you need her?" Sandor asked. If Lord Robb refused to bend the knee, it was highly possible that he'd call the bannermen. Lord Umber would need Juvellia then.

The Old wolf shrugged and sat on his squire's bed.

"I have other swords. You have none. And your quest will be dangerous. You'll need a good weapon in your hands, and Juvellia is the best."

Sandor took the sword in his hand and reverently touched her sharp edge.

"Thank you my Lord. It means a lot."

Greatjon nodded and laughed softly. He put his big hand on his squire's shoulder and sighed.

"This will be quit a test for you. You have great ability but so have the Lannisters and their allies."

The Old Wolf stood up, facing his squire and holding out his arm to him. Sandor seized it, realizing the great honour done to him.

"Safe journey, Sandor. I know Lady Sansa is your priority, but bring both Lady Sansa and Lady Arya home. The Gods only know what in the seven hells those bastards will do to Lord Eddard."

Sandor nodded, his face as dark as winter. His lord had faith in him, as did Sansa. He wouldn't disappoint them.

When Lord Umber left Sandor's chamber, Lady gave a light huff and came to his side. Sandor smiled at the direwolf and petted her.

It was time to leave and save his lady from the monsters.


	5. Chapter 5

All alone in her cell, Sansa Stark was afraid. Everything seemed to hurt. Her arm, her belly, her lips... Every place where Joffrey's guards had hit her. They came into her jail and hit her every day.

But it was her heart that hurt the most.

Her father was dead. So were Arya and Jeyne Poole, most likely. And Septa Mordane.

And those knights, those shining knights she had cheered for during her father's tourney. They were monsters. No one had warned her about this.

Everything was supposed to be better, prettier in the South, or so the songs said. But it was all a lie. The knights were no heroes. They were like Gregor. They were monsters. As for their ladies, Sansa had seen they were as beautiful as they were said to be, but their hearts were most likely as dark as the soul of their knights.

The only thing Sansa wished for was the pain to stop.

She had lost her senses for a moment; she had wanted to kill King Joffrey, to make him pay. The Prince would have beheaded her too but it was as if he had known that what she wanted. To die and join her father.

So he had thrown her into a small, humid, dark jail. He wanted to make her wait, to torture her with doubt between visits of the knights and their mailed fists, each blow falling on her frail body like the rain on the ground.

And it worked. Awful questions crossed Sansa's mind "Will I die today? Tomorrow? In a week or a year? Will they forget me and leave me to the rats?"

She wished Lady was there. Her direwolf would keep her warm. She would have devoured Joffrey and the fake knights. She would have protected her.

So would have Sandor.

Sansa felt guilty. She should have begged her parents to let her take Sandor with her. The boy was her champion. Surely, he would know what to do; he'd save her as he had promised he always would.

Or maybe he would be prisoner with her.

No, they wouldn't have sent him to jail. They would have killed him, just like they had killed the brave Jory Cassel and Septa Mordane.

Sandor would be dead.

At this thought, Sansa started to shiver. Yes, she did well to leave Lady with him. They would take care of each other if Joffrey ever killed her.

How long at it been since she had had last seen the sun? Too long for certain. A week? No, longer than that. A month? Several months? It felt like an eternity to Sansa.

At the beginning, she had thought of letting herself die. Even if her bones stayed here, at least, her shade would be back in Winterfell. Her father's would surely guide hers.

However, the instinct to survive had been stronger. The bread her jailer gave her once a day was disgusting and she wasn't sure the water they made her drink was always clean. But she still ate.

Her pretty dress was in a dreadful state now and Sansa longed for a warm bath nearly as much as she longed for a real meal.

She longed for Lady's fur under her fingers and Sandor's laugh. She missed Arya, Ariadne, Jeyne and their games.

She missed the warm embrace of her father. She could still see Ice falling on his neck, ending his life.

Joffrey would pay. Yes he would. All the Lannisters would. They were liars and murderers.

One day, very soon she hoped, her brother would come and crush them all. Sandor would be in his army of course, with Lady by his side. He would be the one to open her jail's door and she would run into his arms. She would even kiss him like she had done once, such a long time ago, at Wintefell.

Sansa felt herself smiling, something she hadn't done for a while now, thinking of that kiss. Sandor's half destroyed lips had been warm on hers and his hands on her hair and on her waist had been soft and reverent. It had been just like in the songs, just like a first kiss was supposed to be.

It had felt so good. Maybe it had been a sin? Maybe the Maiden had been angry at her for giving away her first kiss to a boy who wasn't her husband?

No, surely her father's death had nothing to do with their kiss. That kiss had been heavenly, what she was living was hell.

This was the Lannisters' work and no one else's.

Suddenly, a bright light blinded Sansa and she hid her eyes with the torn sleeves of her dirty dress.

The door had opened. A knight was in front of her, his white cloak hanging behind him to the ground.

One of the Kingsguard knights. One of Joffrey's fake knights. Maybe he was there to kill her.

But the knight didn't unsheathe his sword. Instead, he picked her up roughly, his hard hands grabbing her weak arm.

"The King wants to talk to you, Lady Sansa"

Lady. He called her "Lady" but didn't treat her like one.

Sansa blinked several times to get used to the sun's light. The air felt good on her skin but made her realize how bad she smelt. Surely, they wouldn't let her appear in front of the whole court in tatters like the lowest of the serving wenches?

But as the knight lead her through the castle's corridors, Sansa recognized the way. They were going directly to the throne room.

So that was it. They were going to kill her in front of everyone, just like her father. The only exception was that she would be executed inside the castle.

The great door of the throne room opened before them and the nobles stepped aside to let them pass.

The knight threw Sansa in front of the king and the girl fell on her knees, her head bowed.

She wished she had the strength to raise her head, to face him. She wanted to keep the last of her dignity. But she couldn't. She was too weak, too tired, too hungry.

At the corner of her eye, she saw Ser Illyn Payne with Ice in his hands.

Silently, Sansa said a prayer to both the old gods and the new for her soul. She was ready to die. She wouldn't cry. Her father didn't and she wouldn't dishonor his name.

"Well, well, well!" said the boy king "Look what we've got here. Is it a whore from the slums? Or a little murderous bitch?"

Sansa swallowed and closed her eyes. She wanted to scream and say that he was the murderer. But there was no point. This would enrage Joffrey even more and he would end up asking Ser Illyn to torture her before beheading her.

She had accepted her own death, but she wanted a quick one. Hadn't she suffered enough?

"Well, bitch, don't you have anything to say?" said the king, smirking evilly.

Sansa took a deep breath, trying to keep herself calm.

"Your Majesty, I pray you to excuse my gesture. The death of my father made me lose my senses. Please, be generous and forgive me"

The words flew from Sansa's mouth as softly as she could. She didn't mean any of them. But maybe Joffrey would just send her to the Silent sisters if she asked forgiveness.

No, of course he wouldn't. Sansa regretted her begging. He would use it against her now.

The king started to laugh and nodded.

"Well, I do. Lady Sansa. Actually I do."

Sansa raised her head, her heart pounding in her chest. Did he really mean it?

"I don't forgive you for trying to kill me as the evil bitch you are, but since you are as much a traitor as the rest of your kind, you showed to everyone that you were unworthy of being my queen. So thanks to you and your "madness", I am free of our engagement."

"I hope your majesty will find a worthy bride." said Sansa softly.

Whoever would be the girl the queen chose for her son, Sansa pitied her sincerely.

"Your brother Robb is as much a traitor as you are. He is at war against us. But we will win and once we've won, Winterfell will be ours".

Never, Sansa wanted to scream. Never. Robb would stop him. Sandor would stop him.

"And this is where you are going to be useful, dear Sansa." continued Joffrey "We have a loyal Northener in our ranks. Fierce and unstoppable. With you as his bride, he'll be able to keep Winterfell in our name."

Sansa's blood started to freeze in her veins. He didn't want her head. This would have been too quick and clean. He wanted her legacy.

But the worst was coming.

Obviously enjoying the look of horror on the girl's face, the king smiled.

Coming from the crowd of the nobles, a man Sansa knew too well stepped forward and knelt in front of the king.

"Meet your future lord and master, Lady Sansa. Ser Gregor Clegane."


	6. Chapter 6

"So this is King's Landing" thought Sandor. The boy was tired, worn out by a long journey. He was also truly disappointed.

Sansa and he had dreamt so often of the capital, how he would participate in all the tourneys and name her his queen of love and beauty.

Everything in this town was supposed to be refined. The men were said to be brave and gallant and their ladies gentle and beautiful.

Sandor looked around him for a long time and found only whores and drunks.

The smell was awful too. Where were the flowery perfumes the songs talked about? It smelled more like piss as far as he was concerned.

Some strange looking people tried to approach him, wanting to sell something to him or laughing drunkenly at his face and his scars.

Sandor knew he was not handsome; he had eyes to see what his brother had done to him. But, he supposed, the Starks had been always extremely nice to him, never saying a word about his appearance and only praising his strength and his ability while holding a sword. And Sansa, his beautiful, sweet Sansa, had let him kiss her. It didn't matter to her if he was ugly. She was his Lady and he was her champion.

People in the South, it seemed, were a lot crueler. It is not that they were prettier than him. Some had also very bad scars on their face, or teeth missing, or were one-eyed. But they liked to insult each other and foreigners. Where in the seven hells were the elegant well-educated knights from Sansa's embroideries?

Most likely they were too busy beheading good Lords like Lord Eddard.

When he had heard the news of the death of Sansa's father, Sandor had been shocked. Then, his heart bled, thinking of his friend, all alone. There were rumours saying that she had tried to kill her former betrothed. The boy felt pried at the idea of his Sansa avenging her father on her own.

But then, the Kingsguard had arrested her and he hadn't been there to defend his Lady. He had failed in his duty.

Whenever he would face her again- the sooner the better- he would fall on his knees and beg for her forgiveness.

By his side, Lady yelped softly. She stayed close to him and didn't seem at ease in the crowded streets of King's Landing. Some dangerous looking people threw her bad looks and the poor beast was afraid for her pelt. Sandor didn't blame her. This city was truly a cut-throat.

The boy's feet were starting to hurt, as he had to sell his horse to pay himself a room in an inn, but, at the sight of his furry companion, every door closed itself in front of them.

They would have to sleep outdoors. Nevertheless, Sandor didn't mind. The air was warm in the South and if one of those charming citizens attacked them, he'd get a good opportunity to use Juvellia.

As he came by a huge building, some passer-by told him it was the Tower of the hand.

Poor Lord Eddard. He surely hadn't realized he would never see WInterfell again.

And Sansa. Where was she? If the rumours were right about her trying to kill her prince, she should be in jail. If she had been executed, they would have sent her bones back to Winterfell.

Sandor tried not to think of his lady's body, roughly cut in two, her blood all over the place, her beautiful eyes icy, lifeless. They would have cut her hair for the execution. Her rosy cheeks would be pale. And her lips- so sweet, tasting like honey and lemoncakes- would be as white as snow.

This made Sandor want to kill everyone in this town. He heard that they had cheered at Lord Stark's execution. They had even thrown stones at him before he was killed.

Had those people no brain? Didn't they see this was all a conspiracy?

If any of those bastards had dared lay a finger on his Sansa- or on Arya- he would kill them all.

Suddenly, Sandor had a strange feeling. He felt like two eyes were on him, watching his every move.

The boy turned sharply, looking everywhere. But of course, how could he spot a spy, a potential enemy in such a crowd?

He used to hunt with Sansa's brothers and Theon Greyjoy and then, as he was his squire, with Greatjon Umber. He quite enjoyed it. However, this was quite different. The North was a huge wilderness. It was much easier to track down his prey.

"Are you looking for someone, my boy?" a stranger asked him politely.

First startled, Sandor looked at the strange man in front of him. He was rather short, with gray-green eyes, dark graying hair and a small pointed beard on his chin.

As his instincts were telling him to beware, the boy put his hand on Juvellia's pommel.

The stranger snorted and held his hand to him, obviously trying to be friendly.

"No need to use violence. I can help you to find Lady Sansa."

Sandor's eyebrows rose at this unexpected ally and Lady barked happily as she heard the name of her mistress.

"My name is Petyr Baelish, and I want to help you."

Sandor didn't like this. He was young, it was true, but this was too good to be real.

If it was a trap, he promised himself he wouldn't fall into it. However, he didn't have much choice, did he? He knew no one in this hostile town. No one to tell him where in the seven hells Sansa was.

Sandor exchanged a worried look with Lady before deciding that following this man might worth it.

Saving Sansa was worth taking every risk after all and he had lost enough time already.


	7. Chapter 7

Of all the things Joffrey could have done to make her suffer, this was the worst.

It was not that Gregor was low-born. Of course, the son of a mere Captain of the Guards marrying a Lord's daughter was quite a scandal and Sansa was sure Queen Cersei wouldn't have allowed it if she hadn't tried to kill her son.

This disgrace was her punishment.

But it was not the "disgrace" that frightened Sansa. If Gregor had been a true knight, Sansa would have survived the shame. Had they forced her to marry the other Clegane brother, she wouldn't have minded at all. He would have kissed her again. That would have been quite pleasant. After all, in the songs the Lady often married her knight after he rescued her from a dreadful monster.

It seemed that, in real life, the beautiful princess married the monster.

At least she had a clean, dry room now and a new dress. Sansa looked at it and made a face. It wasn't pretty at all. It was a lot plainer than her usual clothes and she didn't like the colour. But of course, she couldn't complain. This was the dress made for the wife of a knight, not for the daughter of the Hand of the King.

She had to accept her new position if she wanted to live.

But would she live? Sansa didn't know. Her handmaiden told her that Gregor had been married a few months ago to a knight's daughter. The poor girl had screamed during her whole wedding night and died a few days later, beaten to death by her beloved husband.

Joffrey surely had known this and expected his new vassal to repeat his monstrous behaviour with her.

He might not want her blood on his fine hands but he didn't mind leaving the dirty work to a wild dog.

Sansa feared the bedding and the wedding night more than anything. The men who were usually around Gregor would be most likely there. Some sordid characters they were. Sansa didn't want them to see her naked.

Gods, she didn't want Gregor to see her naked, to touch her. Sandor had lost half of his face trying to protect her from his brother years ago. His sacrifice had been in vain.

Only one thought seemed to warm Sansa's heart. Today, a tourney would take place. The young lady couldn't wait to see the knights in their shining armour again.

Should she be happy about this? Wouldn't it remind her of her father's tourney and how her future husband had nearly beaten to death the poor Loras Tyrell? Six men had been needed to stop him.

After throwing her in a cell, Joffrey had decided to throw her in the arms of a murderous beast.

Had anyone asked Sansa her opinion, she would have chosen the cell. The rats were surely safer companions than Gregor.

Sighing again as she saw her poor outfit in the mirror, Sansa smiled at her handmaiden and decided it was time to go to the tourney if she wanted to have a good place. She wasn't a guest of honour anymore.

As Sansa walked by her handmaiden's side, she thought of Jeyne Poole, her friend from Winterfell. She wish she had her friend now, she wish she could talk to her, tell her of her fears. The servant girl was very sweet, but Sansa knew she couldn't trust her. Not that she would betray her willingly, but Gregor terrified servants and lords alike. He would know how to make the girl talk and reveal all her mistress' secrets.

Not even Jeyne's loyalty would have resisted such a man. Only Sandor would have been able to protect her.

But he wasn't there. And, even if he heard about her wedding to his brother, he would never reach King's Landing in time to stop it. She was doomed.

Sansa's thoughts were interrupted by the crowd's happy cheering for the knights. They were all parading in front of the spectators and the king.

They were all very handsome, but Sansa realized she had lost her love for them. She had thought that seeing such a spectacle would make her feel happier, but every time a new knight made an entrance on the field, she couldn't help but remember the Kingsguard knights' fists hitting her again and again.

One knight, however, attracted her attention. He was quite tall, nearly as tall as her future husband. His horse was also quite big and black as night. His armor was shining in the sun's light and his helm was the form of a wolf- or was it a dog?

"Lady Sansa, what a lovely surprise!" exclaimed a familiar voice by her side.

Sansa turned her head and saw Lord Petyr Baelish, smiling at her.

"I see you've noticed our new knight. He's called the Hound."

The knight's helmet was quite frightening but its wolfish appearance pleased Sansa. She hoped that knight was as strong as he looked and that he would defeat Gregor. If he killed him, maybe then Joffrey would give her to the Hound. Surely, he couldn't be worse than her betrothed.

Suddenly, the knight stopped and led his horse in the crowd's direction. He stopped directly in front of her.

He took a flower from his lap and held it out to her. It was a red camellia. Sansa let a little laugh escape her lips. It was the symbol for an ardent love, unconditional and eternal.

Surely, the mysterious knight couldn't mean it. They had never met. How could he be in love with her?

Maybe he just wanted to challenge Gregor by giving such a meaningful flower to his future ladywife.

Well, if her aunt Lyanna could accept roses from a man who wasn't her betrothed, why not her? Of course, if Gregor survived this fight, he would kill her.

To die by his hand before or after the wedding, what was the difference really? This knight, this Hound, might be her only chance of escape.

Gathering all her courage, Sansa took the red camellia and put her fate in his gloved hands.


	8. Chapter 8

Sandor cursed silently. Those southern knights were strong, no doubt. But their souls were corrupted. They wanted glory and money. He just wanted to save his Lady, as any true knight should.

Lord Baelish, whatever his intentions were, had been more than generous. He had offered him new armour and a new horse.

The boy smiled, remembering his reaction when he first was the magnificent animal. It was so big and its hair was as black as the winter's nights. In its dark eyes, Sandor could see a spark of fire ready to be set ablaze. No doubt, it was the most beautiful horse the boy had ever seen.

"His name is Dorne." Lord Baelish had said.

Sandor had wondered what kind of fool named a horse after a kingdom. What about North or Riverlands? Those were no proper names for such a fantastic horse.

So, as the steward asked for his name and his horse's name, he answered. "I am the Hound. And this is Stranger."

The poor man had gasped, visibly shocked by such a blasphemy. Sandor could understand his reaction. No true knight would name his horse after a god, but this suited the Hound's reputation.

Sandor thought about his and snorted. Of course, he had no reputation but the character he had just created with Lord Baelish's help had to have the aura of a dark knight, fearless of the men and the gods alike.

Lord Baelish had explained him well that no one could know who he was. A Northerner participating in the tourney would have been suspicious and his brother's men would have killed him before he had even laid his eyes on Sansa.

So now, he was not Sandor Clegane, proud Northerner, champion to Lady Sansa Stark, but a foreign knight called the Hound. A man with no religion, no family, no fears. But no love?

Sandor couldn't imagine a knight, true or not, without a lady to champion. And for a man as dark as the Hound, he needed a lady who would symbolize purity, sweetness, beauty and everything that is good in the world.

Lady Sansa Stark. His Sansa.

Anyway, Sandor knew that he couldn't have chosen another girl to give his flower to. After all, hadn't they dreamed of this tourney since they were old enough to understand the songs? This was their moment.

Gregor and his claim on her could go to hell for all he cared.

When Lord Baelish had told him of Lady Sansa's engagement, at first he had not believed it. The Lannisters could marry her to one of their allies, some high Lord unworthy of her. But his brother? This was impossible. They would never marry her to someone so low-born.

If he was honest, he would admit he was jealous. If Sansa had to marry a Clegane, then he should have been the one. He wanted to kiss her again, to feel her sweet lips against his, to hold her slender body in a tight embrace.

Sandor knew that Sansa would have to marry one day. He was prepared to see her go in some castle, as wife to a nice lord. But Gregor? No, never. Not this monster.

As Lord Baelish gave him his helmet, Sandor thought that the snarling dog represented well his present anger. He would be like one of those Hell Hounds the sacred books talked about. Dangerous. Wild. The Hound would be pitiless for everyone, except for his mistress. He would defend her until his last breath.

His opponents were all competent knights but none could match his will to win. When his last competitor fell, Sandor's heart filled itself with pride and he threw a look in Sansa's direction. From both sides of the field, the crowd was cheering for him but only his lady's contentment was important for him.

And she did seem happy, applauding him and smiling. If only he could throw away his helmet and run to her side. He'd fell on one knee in front of her and name her his queen of love and beauty.

But he was not yet the great victor of the tourney. He still had an opponent to defeat. The monster haunting his worst nightmares, Sansa's betrothed, his own brother, Gregor.

When his brother appeared in front of him, Sandor's first thought was for his poor horse. Gregor had grown again and was now as high as a mountain.

His helmet was a lot less sophisticated than his and he was wearing their father's colours.

Sandor's heart hurt at this, but then, the boy thought, their father had always preferred his first-born, even if he was a murderous beast.

Now it was time to avenge all the suffering Gregor had inflected to him during his childhood, and all those unfortunate people he had murdered since he had left Winterfell.


	9. Chapter 9

Sansa was worried to death. Her hands tightly clasped as she prayed, she couldn't breathe anymore. Her heart was pounding in her chest, missing a beat each time her knight was in danger. And knowing Gregor's temper and fighting skills, this meant constantly.

The audience was silent all around her. The citizens and the nobles had never witnessed such a fight. The two knights in front of them were amazing warriors- equal in strength and skill.

If Joffrey hadn't been such a capricious little boy, he would have pronounced the game a draw. But obviously, the king was in the mood for a fight to the death. And Sansa knew her nerves wouldn't last long. She wouldn't stand watching Gregor killing the Hound.

She didn't know him, but Sansa thought that she could love him. He fought with so much passion and never seemed to give up. In lots of ways, this knight reminded her of Sandor. His bravery, his valiance, his dexterity. He didn't seem to be one to use tricks, just like Ser Loras had, in order to defeat Gregor during her father's tourney. Sansa had been very disappointed but she had pitied the handsome knight when Gregor had started to beat him to death.

Without Ser Barristan and his friends, the knight of flowers would have paid for his treachery with his life.

This was a lesson for all King's Landing's fake knights. The Gods didn't like treachery.

However, it seemed that the Gods did like the Hound as they guided his lance and helped him to unhorse his opponent.

This caused the whole audience to gasp when Gregor's left foot became trapped in his stirrup. Sansa swallowed as she saw her betrothed's body dragged by his horse, his head hitting the ground.

She had been right. The Gods, old and new, were fair. Gregor was humiliated and most likely badly hurt.

Her eyes caught the Hound's. She stood up and applauded him, holding his flower in her hands.

"You seem happy, my lady" Littlefinger commented by her side.

Sansa nodded, still cheering for her champion.

"I knew the Hound would win."

"Oh did you, now?" he asked, with a smirk. Sansa hadn't liked the man before, but his smirk made her even more uncomfortable.

Only the Hound's victory warmed her heart. If only he would show her his face.

But he didn't. He bowed his head in front of her to salute her and then in front of the king to get his reward.

And then, he was gone.

Sansa sighed, disappointed. She should have known better than placing her hopes and her fate in the hands' of a stranger. Sandor would have helped her, but he was still in Winterfell, and she was trapped.

At least, Gregor was now unable to move thanks to the Hound. For that, at least, Sansa could be grateful to him. Her betrothed wouldn't beat her tonight.

But one day, very soon, he would and no one would be there to help her. Neither the Hound, nor Sandor.

Sansa made her way home from the tourney grounds. She was alone as her handmaiden had left her to go and visit her mother. Obviously worried by the melancholy of her mistress, the girl had invited her to dine with her family, but Sansa had politely declined. She needed to be alone.

Sansa had been carefully keeping to the busier streets, when suddenly, she felt herself pulled by a powerful arm into one of the dark alleys.

Fearing for the worst, Sansa closed her eyes tightly, preparing herself to be attacked and maybe slain by a thief.

"Have I ever told you that you look like a little bird?" said a voice.

This was a familiar voice. A low voice, grave and warm. A voice she loved. Sandor's voice.

Sansa opened her eyes and smiled but the man in front of her was not her childhood friend. It was the Hound. Did the knight change his mind and came back for her? Or maybe she had mistaken his intentions after the tourney?

Perhaps he had always wanted to take her with him but couldn't do it in front of everyone. So he waited for the night, to catch her and take her away, back to Winterfell she hoped.

"Hound" she said, her voice shaking with emotion "I am pleased to see you."

The knight laughed. This was actually a beautiful sound, but the girl felt like he was mocking her.

Sansa frowned at this and crossed her arms, waiting for her champion to calm his hilarity.

Suddenly, an idea crossed her mind and she took the red camellia he had given to her from her bodice.

This stopped the knight's laugh and he approached her, dangerously close. Her body was now trapped between his and the wall. Sansa was blushing, her heart pounding in her chest.

What if his intentions were not pure? What if he took her maidenhood in this dark alley, like she was a common whore?

"Oh Sansa…" he whispered in her ear.

Why did he have Sandor's voice? Or was it just her imagination?

Collecting all her courage, Sansa put her hands on the Hound's helmet and lifted it.

Behind the snarling dog, there was no stranger's face but her friend's.

Sansa let a little cry of joy escape her lips, her eyes sparkling with tears.

It was him. Him! She was safe, it was Sandor in front of her. Sandor was the Hound. He was her champion. He had defeated Gregor for her.

She let the helmet fall by her side and jumped into his arms. He held her tightly for a long time, his mailed hands caressing her hair and her back.

"I missed you so much!" Sansa said, her head still against his shoulder.

"I know, my love, I know. So did I."

Sansa's heart stopped in her chest. Did he call her "my love"? Was it really possible?

Softly, Sandor put one of his gloved fingers under her chin and smiled at her. Their eyes met each other, blue meeting grey and Sansa knew she loved him too. More than she could ever tell.

The girl let her hand slide against his scarred cheek and Sandor gently lowered his lips to hers.

Sansa felt every nerve inside of her bursting into flames as the kiss became more and more passionate. His arms tightened around her as she let her back rest against the wall.

It seemed that his lips were devouring hers now that his tongue was inside her mouth, teasing her own. Her hands were at his neck, massaging him softly before sliding into his dark hair.

Sansa decided that this was the best kiss she had ever received, even if it was only the second. She hoped Sandor would kiss her again and often.

Then it ended and the girl felt breathless. Her forehead was resting against his and she felt calm and happy. Happier than she had felt for a while.

All the dreadful events that had happened in the last months seemed to be forgotten, as long as she was in his arms.


	10. Chapter 10

Sandor was in heaven. The boy could feel his heart bursting with joy. His little bird was behind him, as they rode, her head resting on his back and her arms firmly gripping his waist.

He couldn't remember since when he had started calling Sansa "little bird", but it suited her. She had looked so frail and helpless in that dark alley. Sandor felt anger rise inside him as he thought that some thief or one of those drunken fake knights could have gotten to her before he did.

How could anyone want to hurt something as beautiful as his little bird? Her feathers shining like fire, her eyes blue as the sapphires from Dorne. Truly, she was a treasure.

His treasure now.

He thought of their new kiss and how he had dared to be a lot more forward than the first time. His tongue had tasted hers and his hands had wandered to her soft breasts. Gods, it had felt so good, so right!

He wished he could halt Stranger now and start kissing her all over again. She would lean back against a tree and the perfumes of the forest would be sweeter and more romantic than the ones from that bloody town.

Would she let him lift her dress to touch her legs? He was so sure they were as soft as her face. Her creamy skin had felt amazing against his hard palm.

All those dirty thoughts made his cock grow harder and Sandor swore silently. He should not think of her like that. What would Lord Eddard think of him? His shadow would be surely enraged at the thought of his Captain of the guards' son so improperly touching his elder daughter.

And Lord Umber? He had trusted him to save Lady Sansa and now, it seemed it was from him she might need to be saved.

He had to be stronger than this. A true knight was supposed to be pure. He was supposed to resist the calling of the flesh.

Then again, he had enjoyed his visit to Ros very much. What did it mean? Was he no true knight? Was he unworthy of the title?

Sandor tried not to think of Sansa's body pressed against his back and how it seemed to inflame his every nerves.

The boy welcomed the night with joy. Maybe a bit of distance from Sansa would quiet his impure desires.

He jumped down from Stranger's back and turned to help Sansa to get down. As he put his hands on her waist, the little bird gave him her brightest smile and he felt his heart pound in his chest once again.

Seven hells, he loved that girl so much. If only he could marry her, then their life would be a real song, just like in their childhood dreams.

He was still holding her firmly against him, mesmerized by her blue eyes, when she let her fingers caress his burned cheek. It seemed that she was trying to memorize his scars, making a map of them.

Sandor decided that he liked it. He liked her feather touch against his marred skin and her soft smile when she was looking at him.

Forgetting his apprehensions, Sandor kissed Sansa passionately and the girl melted in his arms, willingly opening her month for him.

Gods even after a whole day of riding, she still smelled of flowers and honey. He let his hands wander down her back, while his lips started attacking her neck.

Sandor heard Sansa gasp, but as she didn't seem to push him back, he kept on biting gently and licking her tender flesh.

The boy felt that, if he didn't stop there, he would have no more control. He'd rip her dress apart and take her maidenhood against a tree.

He was better than this and most importantly, she deserved better.

So Sandor gave her one last kiss and let her head rest on his chest, while petting her soft tresses.

Sansa had her eyes closed and sighed happily. She surely could hear his heart, drumming madly. She surely knew how he felt.

Slowly, Sandor pushed back, his eyes never leaving hers.

"We've got to make a fire for the night. Stay here with Stranger, I am going to pick some wood."

Sansa smiled and nodded.

"Yes, Sandor." She said sweetly.

He wanted nothing more than to take her once again in his arms and kiss her but they had to sleep. Separately. Before they did something they would both regret in the morning.

He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips. He placed a chaste kiss upon it and smiled at her. He remembered a song where a gallant knight had done such a thing and how romantic Sansa had thought this simple gesture was.

This was the kind of knight he wanted to be, not a buggering dog in heat.

"I'm coming back quickly. I promise."

Sansa laughed softly at this and answered him with another smile: "I know, my love. I know."

She loved him, she had said. Just as he loved her. With this happy thought, Sandor turned his back and went to the woods. They had a fire to light.

As he walked deeper in the forest, Sandor smiled like a fool. This was without a doubt the best day of his life. But, suddenly, he felt that someone was watching him. Surely not his bird, he thought, as his instincts were warning him of a close danger.

Sandor let down the wood sticks he had picked up and grabbed Juvellia. But he was too slow. Suddenly, he felt something hard hitting his head and then, all went black.

When he woke up, the sun had risen and the light hurt his eyes. He felt dizzy and his head was dreadfully painful. Lady was by his side, licking his hands and his face.

"Here, here, sweetling. Yes, I love you too." Sandor said, as the direwolf pushed herself under his hands, demanding his attention with no regard for his need to rise.

As he complied, Sandor realized there was blood on the animal's fur. She had been in a fight, obviously. But against who?

It took him a good moment to remember where he was and what had happened.

And then, it all came back to him.

Sansa!

The boy ran to the glade where he had left his beloved. He ran faster than he had ever done. He started to shout her name, hoping she'd hear him, wishing that she would appear from wherever she was hiding.

Stranger had been firmly tied to a tree and the poor beast was struggling to get free. As he approached his horse, Sandor saw that it had been hurt too. Not enough to kill him, but the bastards had not been gentle with the proud animal. Of course, a fierce beast like Stranger wouldn't have let them touch him.

Sandor wanted to scream. He wanted to jump on Stranger's back and ride as quickly as the wind and kill them all.

Sansa was in danger. The gods only knew what they had done to her! But Stranger was in no state to race. Neither could Lady. He had to take care of them, cure their wounds and only then, could they start their search for the little bird.


	11. Chapter 11

Sansa had not slept that night. She had closed her eyes tightly, pretending to be asleep so her abductors wouldn’t pay attention to her.

She had several ribbons in her pockets. Ribbons she had hoped to wear in her hair the day they returned to Winterfell. She had also thought they would make perfect favours for Sandor, even if she knew that they both preferred kisses instead of pieces of cloth.

Well, the ribbons would have another use. They would lead Sandor to her.

Every now and then, she looked behind her, hoping to see him, riding on Stranger, racing after them with Lady by his side.

They would soon catch them up. Sandor would unsheathe Juvellia and he would attack them. Of course, his victory would be easy.

They were just highwaymen after all and Sandor was a true knight. True knights always won, it was known.

All in all, this was exactly like in a song. She had been kidnapped and now Sandor had to rescue her. He would defeat them and then, she would grant him another kiss. Sansa blushed as she realized she couldn’t wait for this part.

She shouldn’t have let his hands wander so low or on her breasts, but if she was honest she had to confess she quite liked it.

Those improper caresses gave her much pleasure and she shouldn’t long for them.

Except that she did.

Sansa wondered if her husband’s caresses would be as pleasurable but as she tried to imagine another man touching her, she felt nothing but disgust.

She didn’t want another man, lord or not, to kiss her. She wanted Sandor.

Sansa bit her lip nervously as she came to the conclusion that she was indeed in love with her childhood friend.

And this was not courtly love anymore. This was romantic love. The kind of love her parents’ marriage was made of.

She wanted to be with him all the time, she wanted to kiss him and be kissed by him. She wanted to wear his cloak in front of her family and bear him a whole pack of lovely little puppies.

Dogs and wolves could mate after all, there was nothing unnatural in this.

Sansa smiled dreamily, thinking of how cute and adorable wolfdog puppies could look.

They would be very happy, if only Robb and her mother could consent.

However, the girl already knew their answer: “NO!”

Sandor and she might be allowed to have a courtly romance. They fitted the parts perfectly. The knight was always fierce and strong and the lady was supposed to be from higher birth than her champion. She was also supposed to be married to a high lord and hide her true feelings. How many songs told the tales of those love, impossible and pure, and how the lady let her husband kiss her while thinking of her knight?

The girl shivered as the pictured her former betrothed caressing her the way Sandor had. That was the stuff of nightmares.

She felt that she belonged with Sandor. She felt so safe in his arm. Now that they were apart, there seemed to be a hole in her heart. She felt empty.

Sansa sighed. The only husband she wanted was Sandor. Maybe if she pleaded well, her mother would be touched and accept Sandor?

This did happen in some of the songs and Sansa knew now why they were her favourites. She just loved happy endings.

She took the decision that her song would have one. Whether the others liked it or not.

Suddenly, the horses halted. Sansa supposed they must have reached their ultimate destination. She looked around her and saw before her a white mountain which had the form of a tower. On its top there was a castle with several towers.

The Eyrie!

Sansa remembered that this was the home of her aunt, Lysa Arryn. Maybe she had decided to save her niece from Gregor Clegane. Her men had surely mistaken Sandor for Gregor!

This was all a misunderstanding, Sansa thought happily. Once they would reached the castle, Sansa would run to her aunt’s feet and beg her to send someone to fetch Sandor and Lady.

She would also ask for lemoncakes as she was quite hungry.

They were still days away from their destination- if it was where they were going. Sansa told herself that it was better that way. She would have time to work on the compliments for her aunt and her request.

Sansa thought bitterly of the last time she had worked so much to write a supplication. It was to Joffrey. She had begged for her father’s life and the king had taken his head.

The girl swallowed nervously. She truly hoped her words would get a better reception this time. But Lady Lysa was her mother’s sister. Surely she was as wise and gentle as Lady Catelyn Stark.

Once again, the horses halted. For one moment, Sansa feared they had been attacked by some mountain warriors, but then, her kidnappers would have unsheathed their swords and would have prepared themselves for a fight.

Instead, they got off their horses and bowed reverently to a man coming to meet them.

Sansa recognized him immediately. It was Petyr Baelish.

The girl swallowed nervously. What did the former Master of coin want with her? Was it he who had kidnapped her? Surely, he had no intention of ransoming her as he was one of the richest men in Westeros. Or did he hope for some favour from Lady Lysa for rescuing her niece? Why not give her back to her brother then? Robb was a king now, he could have given Lord Baelish everything he wanted.

“My Lord” Sansa curtsied politely. It was not the moment to lose her cold blood. Sandor had showed so much courage these last days; she had to be worthy of such a valiant knight.

“My Lady” Lord Baelish said, his usual smirk on his thin lips. He was looking her so intently that it made Sansa feel uncomfortable.

“Your aunt, Lady Lysa Arryn, has sent me to fetch you, Lady Sansa. I do hope you had a nice journey?”

There was a touch of mockery in his voice. Surely, he knew his men had kidnapped her from Sandor and had been a bit rough while doing so.

Sansa decided she didn’t like this man at all. He was not trustworthy.

“I did, my Lord. Thank you.” Sansa replied, keeping carefully her armour of courtesy in place.

Lord Baelish seemed surprised by her calm. Had he expected tears or screams on her part? Who did he think she was? Some common wench? She was a Lady and the daughter of Ned Stark. She would behave according to her rank and to the blood running in her veins.

Besides, she was not alone. Sandor would find her sooner or later. He would rescue her and they would have their happy ending. S

Sansa was sure about it and the Lord Baelish’s cynical smile would not change this.

Petyr Baelish led Sansa further from his men. He seemed to want to have a private conversation and it worried the girl. Had he news from Robb? Had her brother lost a battle against the Lannisters?

“We were all very worried for you, Lady Sansa.” Lord Petyr said, concern on his face. “The Hound had an execrable reputation!”

Sansa frowned. Didn’t Sandor tell her Lord Petyr himself had given him Stranger and his armour to participate in the tourney?

“I hope he has done nothing…. irreparable?” the former master of coins asked her, a strange glow playing in his eyes.

What did he mean? He must have known Sandor would never hurt her or he wouldn’t have helped him.

What was it all about?

“No, my Lord. The Hound has not hurt me. He is a true knight. He would never lay his hand on me.” Sansa replied. But as she pronounced those words, Sansa thought of Sandor’s hands on her skin. The memory warmed her and gave her strength.

Lord Baelish smiled knowingly and nodded.

“Good girl” he exclaimed “But you should know that there are no true knight.”

“Sandor is a true knight.” Sansa said with passion. Her eyes met Petyr Baelish’s in a battle of wills.

“Maybe your friend is. But the Hound isn’t. And it is the Hound who kidnapped you from King’s Landing, try to remember that. Now, the good people will all know the story of how a mysterious knight kidnapped Lady Sansa Stark and how they both disappeared.”

So it had been all Lord Baelish’s plan, Sansa thought, disappointed. He had set up everything to get her out from King’s Landing.

Sandor had just been a puppet in the wily politician’s game.

“But cheer up, sweetling.” Lord Baelish added with a familiarity that shocked Sansa “There might be songs about you and your champion. Singers will tell your tale, and of how happily the Hound and his wolf-bitch lived in the woods for the rest of their days.”

He placed his gloved fingers under her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes.

“And during this time, you will be in your aunt’s castle, learning how to play the game of thrones.”

“The game of thrones, my lord?” Sansa asked hesitantly. Now, she was terrified. Whatever part Lord Baelish had for her in his conspiracy, she didn’t want it.

“Yes, my dear Sansa.” Lord Baelish replied, starting walking towards his horse. “The game of thrones. I will tell you all about it very soon. Just know this, you will be my masterpiece. The queen of my chessboard.”

Sharply, Lord Baelish turned himself towards her, standing far too close to Sansa for her taste.

“Surely, you want to be a queen. Don’t you, Sansa?” he asked.

Sansa was horrified. She wanted to scream at him, courtesy and good manners forgotten, tell him that this was a betrayal against Robb and that all she wanted was to be Sandor’s wife and nothing else.

But she didn’t. She knew that if she lost her temper now, Lord Petyr would most likely be angry and hit her the way Joffrey’s guards had.

As she was trying to find the right words to politely decline Lord Petyr’s offer, she heard wild roars behind them.

Horsemen were coming in their direction, their swords ready to slaughter them all.

Lord Petyr grabbed her hand and started to run towards the forest but one of the warriors killed him in one blow.

Sansa fell on the hard ground and freed her hand from Petyr’s. Even dead, his grip on her fingers was still tight.

She put herself on her knees, trying to rise. But she froze in terror when she heard a powerful laugh she knew far too well.

Of course, it had to be him. The day couldn’t have gotten worse. She should have recognized the man who had slain Petyr Baelish.

It was one of his rats, as Sandor would have called them.

One of Gregor’s men. And now, they were going to kill her.

Sansa said one last prayer to the Mother and waited for the Stranger to come and take her.

 

Note to my beloved readers: YES I took a great pleasure in killing a certain mockingbird. XD


	12. Chapter 12

A day after Sansa’s kidnapping, Sandor was ready to go back on the King’s road and start his search for Sansa.

He had several suspects in mind. The first, of course, was his brother. But then, if it had been his brother, he would be most likely dead. Gregor would have finished his work and burnt his whole body.

His rats might have also killed both Stranger and Lady. But whoever attacked them, they took no time to deal with his pets. Sansa was their one and only goal.

This was the work of professionals. They had lost no time in acts of pure cruelty. They knocked him out, took the girl and ran away.

So it was not Gregor.

It might have been highwaymen, but then, they would have stolen Juvellia and the gold he had won at the tourney.

These men were clever and they had been well informed. They obviously knew where they were going and who they were. They  
had knocked him out instead of trying to fight him. Smart bastards.

The more Sandor thought about it, the more one name came to his mind. One name and a sly smile. Petyr Baelish!

He had known the buggering mockingbird had something in mind. He had wondered why he was helping him. Well, all was clear n  
now. He wanted Sandor to do all the hard work but it would be him, Petyr Baelish, who would get the reward.

Sandor had to admit he didn’t care about rewards. All he wanted was more kisses from Sansa and that was it. He had already won quite a nice amount of gold and tried to imagine what he could do with it. Well, if Sansa had been from lesser birth, the money could have allowed him to buy a home and marry her.

But as much as he wanted Sansa to be his, he knew very well that King Robb and Lady Catelyn would never let Sansa marry so low.

Queen Cersei must have agreed to Gregor and Sansa’s wedding only because she had try to kill her worm of a son. If Sansa had stayed quiet, they would have kept her as Joffrey’s betrothed or married her to another member of their buggering family.

Those kisses they had shared – what were his chances of getting more before she was taken from him forever? None.

It was his duty to give her back to her family intact and so he would. Even if it was his last chance to hold her in his arms.

Sandor wondered if the Starks would give Sansa’s hand to Lord Baelish. After all, he was a Lord, wasn’t he? The boy didn’t know if his family was important in Westeros, but surely, the man made his own place in the world. He was rich and he had been the Master of coins.

While Sandor? He was nothing. He could become Winterfell’s new master-at-arms, or perhaps Robb’s Captain of the guards once his father was too old. But that was it.

Sandor tried to cheer himself up by picturing the home he would have bought for Sansa and him. It would have been humble but comfortable.

Rich as he was, Lord Baelish would surely buy her the castle of her dreams.

But first, where was the former Master of coins going to take Sansa? To Winterfell? To Riverrun? Surely not back to King’s Landing, since they had made so many efforts to free her from the capital and Gregor’s grip.

He sighed in frustration and kicked Stranger softly to accelerate his pace. Once he was back at Winterfell, what was he going to do? If Lord Petyr really did have Sansa and wanted to return her to her family, this meant she was safe. Would she already be there when he arrived, in one of her pretty dresses, her fiery hair waving around her face? Gods, she was so beautiful!

Would she already be promised to Lord Baelish? Or to one of King Robb’s bannermen? Sandor knew how lady Catlyn had traded Arya and Robb so the Northern army could pass on the Freys’ territory.

Sandor hated it. Just the idea of his Sansa being sold like cattle infuriated him. But in the nobles’ world, it was usual, wasn’t it? Girls were married to older men, powerful and rich, to bear their children. They were bellies and nothing else.

If Sansa were his, he would treat her like the princess she was. He would worship her, kiss the ground after every step she made.

He’d try and make her life happy, loving her until his last breath. He’d work and work until late at night so they’d have money and she could have all the pretty things she wanted. Gods, he’d even feed her only lemoncakes if she wished it so.

Lord Baelish did not deserve her. He had not won the tourney. He had not taken her from King’s Landing. If he had any honour, he would have saved her himself instead of sending someone else. He was a coward. The songs were full of those cunning characters, lusting after the knight’s lady and putting obstacles in the champion’s way.

Baelish was just a sly bastard and in the songs, sly bastards didn’t get the fair lady.

But, as much as he wanted it, life was not a song, was it?

In real life, it seemed that they did win everything. Both the glory and the girl.

Sandor tried not to picture Sansa in his rival’s arms, his dirty lips on her perfect mouth. No, it couldn’t be.

And yet, as the Hound, he had seen Petyr Baelish sit by Sansa’s side and gallantly conversing with her. He had also seen the way the older man was watching her.

At the time, Sandor had told himself that it didn’t matter. Of course Baelish would find Sansa desirable. What man wouldn’t? But he hadn’t thought the former Master of coin would take her back from him.

He had been a fool. A pawn in his devilish little plan.

Now she would be most likely Baelish’s bride and he would be alone. Maybe he should give Lady back to her mistress, a wedding present of sorts.

Maybe the she-wolf would devour Sansa’s husband on their wedding night.

The idea made Sandor chuckle. That was a pleasant picture. But he knew that the direwolf was far too well-behaved to do something so wild.

Nymeria, though… Too bad Arya had disappeared. Maybe the other Stark girl would have lent him her pet.

As he was lost in his thoughts, he didn’t hear a group of Lannister guards coming towards him. The soldiers surrounded him quickly before he had time to react.

He saw Lady running into the woods, the clever girl. She was scared for her pelt, and rightly so.

The armed men unsheathed their swords, threatening him, keeping him from running away. Sandor felt Stranger tensing under him and the boy petted his horse to calm him down.

“Sandor Clegane?” One of the Lannister men asked with a look of disgust on his face.

“What do you want from me?” Sandor replied, without showing any emotion. It was not the moment to lose his nerve. They were too numerous, even with his strength and with a war-horse such as Stranger, he wouldn’t be able to kill them all.

“We’re here to arrest you for the kidnapping of Sansa Stark. Where have you hidden her?”

Sandor threw his head back in laughter. That was a good one.

“Well, that’s a good question. Because, obviously, she is not with me. Who told you she was?” Sandor asked.

“Lord Petyr Baelish”

Bugger the buggering bastard! Whenever Sandor would find the bloody mockingbird, he was going to pay.


	13. Chapter 13

Sansa was running through a forest. The night was falling and she could feel the cold air on her skin. She was only in her nightgown and her feet were bare. Several times she felt little stones and sharps thorns hurting her tender flesh, but she couldn’t stop. If she ever did, Gregor would catch her.

The Gods only knew what he was going to do to her and Sansa decided she didn’t want to find out.

She was terrified and breathless. From time to time, she threw a look behind to see if he was still chasing her.

Of course he was. Tall and big and cruel. He was a wild dog and she was his prey.

Suddenly, Sansa ran into someone. Just as she was about to fell, a hand grabbed her arm. Sansa raised her hand as if to protect herself, but then she saw Sandor Clegane’s smiling face.

Her heart bursting with joy, Sansa leapt into her friend’s arms and the scenery changed around them. Suddenly, they were not in a forest anymore and Gregor was far, far away.

They were in her room in Winterfell. There was a fire in the hearth and she felt warm and comfortable.

Sandor was kissing her, his asymmetric lips devouring her mouth and his hands were everywhere: in her hair, on her breasts, on her back.

He lifted her in his arms as easily as if she had been as light as a feather before laying her reverently on her bed.

Sansa was flushed, her heart pounding madly as he joined her on the bed, propping himself up above her, his arms on either side of her head. She should have felt trapped, but she knew she was safe. He kissed her again, his tongue dancing with hers before his teeth began nibbling her neck.

Then, in a moment of passion, he tore up her dress and his hands started playing with her breasts. She felt her nipples growing hard against his fingers and this awoke the nerves in every part of her body.

When he was finished teasing her breasts, his hands caressed her legs, starting at her calves and up to her thighs, lifting her nightgown, revealing more and more skin.

As she felt Sandor’s finger at the joining of her legs, Sansa stroked his burned cheek before nodding and spreading her thighs for him.

And then, as she waited for Sandor to take her maidenhood, she woke up.

Sansa felt suddenly cold. There was no Sandor, no passionate embraces, not even fire in the hearth. Her nightgown was intact  
and she was not in Winterfell.

She was back in her room in Gregor’s house in King’s Landing. Gradually, she remembered all the events from the past days.

The tourney. Her escape with Sandor. Their kisses in the woods. But it had all gone wrong. Littlefinger had kidnapped her before  
Gregor found them again and killed the former Master of coins.

He had been led to them by the ribbons she had left for Sandor on the road. What a fool she had been!

Yes, of course, in a song, only her knight would have recognized her ribbons, but this was real life. Hadn’t she learnt that the hard way when Joffrey had beheaded her father?

As she lay back in her bed, trying to fall asleep again, Sansa felt a strange sensation between her legs. She was wet.

Carefully, the girl touched her tight and then looked at her hand. Blood!

Had Gregor raped her while she was dreaming of his brother? The idea itself made her shiver with terror and disgust. But no, this wasn’t her maidenblood, this was her moonblood.

She was a woman now. When Gregor took her on their wedding night, he could get her with chid. That was if she survived the bedding.

Sansa could perfectly see herself dying before saying “yes” during the ceremony. It would be a very dignified thing to do. Her name would be safe and her father’s shade would be proud.

But could one really die on command? There was a song where a lady died when she heard of her knight’s death.

The girl tried to concentrate, to see if she could do it too. She stopped breathing once, twice, but on the third time, she sighed and let herself fall on the bed.

This was hopeless.

She really shouldn’t take example from the songs anymore. Not now that she had become a woman.

However, Sansa couldn’t help herself. Her knight was still out there. Sandor was still alive, she knew it! She could see him on Stranger’s back, with Lady running by his side.

He’d find her and he would rescue her.

But how would he? He didn’t even know where she was! If he followed the traces Petyr’s men might have left, they would lead him to the Eyrie, not to King’s landing!

And if he ever got back to the capital, she would be already married to his brother by then. Dead or heavily pregnant.

Sansa felt sick. Her tummy ached and she felt slightly nauseous. She had no idea if this was because of her disgust at the thought of expecting Gregor’s spawn or if it was because of her moonsblood.

She wanted to burn her sheets so her monster of betrothed would not know she was yet flowered, but then, she remembered him putting Sandor’s face in the open fire.

Would he do it to her too? Sansa had to laugh at the silliness of her own question. Of course he would. He didn’t desire her because she was pretty. He just wanted his brother’s lady. It was just a matter of sibling rivalry. And of course, there was Winterfell.

He hoped to take it by military force and consolidate his power with her as his bride. Joffrey’s plan seemed perfect, except for the part where no Northern lord would agree to bend the knee to him.

Did it mean he would have to kill them all? From what Sansa had heard about her future husband, she supposed it would not be a problem for him. Killing men, raping women, cutting babies into pieces, it was all a game for him.

Sansa sighed as her handmaiden brought her wedding dress. The girl didn’t find it very pretty, but then again, she knew Gregor wouldn’t spend a lot of money for this kind of things.

As she was inspecting the dress, Sansa realized there was some blood on the left sleeve.

She frowned and looked at her servant.

“What is this?” Sansa asked, disturbed by the bad omen.

Obviously, the handmaiden felt embarrassed and scared. Yet, surely, she had to know her mistress would never scream at her.

Sansa took her handmaiden by the hand, trying to comfort the poor girl.

“What is the matter?” Sansa softly asked.

The servant started to cry and Sansa showed her a chair where she could sit.

“Please, do tell me.” Sansa said

“Oh I am so sorry, my lady. You deserve so much better than this.” The girl said between her tears. “It’s Master Gregor. He said you should wear her dress.”

Whose dress? Sansa wanted to ask, but she knew, didn’t she? His first wife’s. And this was her blood, Sansa thought sadly, hesitantly touching the red stain on the white cloth.

Gregor wanted her to wear this dress as he wanted her to share his first wife’s fate. She’d had to survive a while longer, tough, if he wanted Winterfell.

But once their first son was born, she would die a mysterious death.

Well, not really mysterious. Everyone would know, but no one would dare to speak.

As she closed her eyes in despair, a face came to her mind and made her smile.  
Sandor.

Sandor would rescue her. She would sit behind him upon Stranger’s back and they would ride away from Gregor, from everyone. She would give herself to him and they would be happy together.

She had to keep her faith in him. Sooner or later, he would find her.

Yes, he would.


	14. Chapter 14

Sandor felt cold and lonely. From the window of his jail, he could see the night sky and the stars. He wondered if Sansa was looking at them right now, and if she was thinking of him.

If she ever did, she would hope for a rescue and would be disappointed. Once again, he had failed in his duty. Sansa would marry Petyr Baelish at Winterfell while he was stuck in this stinking jail.

The air smelled of piss and shit and other lovely things. The songs never talked about this, Sandor though. But this was the smell of real life, wasn’t it?

Betrayal, corruption, drunken knights, whores and sly bastards… This was the world where they were born. Those were the people with whom they had to deal.

Maybe Sansa and he had been overprotected at Winterfell. The Starks had let them live in their little world of fair ladies and valiant knights while outside, the people were brutal and faithless.

Sandor tried to imagine what would have been his life if his family had not been sworn to the Starks. What if he had been raised at Casterly Rock? Lord Lannister would have never forced his father to send Gregor away. That monster would have ruled over his family. Maybe he would have killed one of them. His father, his mother or Ariadne?

The lovely smiling face of his sister came into his mind, but instead of the usual sparkle in her blue eyes, there was a great void. S

She was dead, her body lying on the floor. Some servant would have found her in a lake, drowned.

Gregor would still have burnt his face, but maybe not for the same reasons. Sansa wouldn’t have been there.

The idea of a life without his lady friend crushed his heart a little more. She would have never held his hand, never shared his games, never kissed him.

They would have been strangers.

Maybe they would have met when Sansa came to King’s Landing as the brat’s betrothed, but it would not have been the same.

And who would he have been? What kind of knight would have he been? Would he have had still his principles, his honour or would have he been one of those false knights?

Perhaps he would have drowned his miserable life in the wine. Maybe he would have been like the character he and Baelish had created. The Hound. A fierce warrior with no soul.

Oh he would have had a soul, but he would have buried it deep inside himself so he wouldn’t have suffered anymore.

He would have drunk and drunk again, fought for the wrong cause and obeyed the wrong master. He would have spent his nights with girls like Ros instead of dreaming of Sansa.

He would have laughed at all the ideals that were dear to him: honour, justice, equity. And if he had ever participated in the tourney, he would have not named Sansa his queen of love and beauty. Not because he wouldn’t have found her beautiful, but because those kinds of things wouldn’t have mattered to him. Only gold would have been important. Gold to buy wine and whores to forget his misery and, most importantly, Gregor.

Would he have wanted to forget Gregor? Sandor didn’t think so. On the contrary, if Gregor had killed his family, he would have wanted revenge. This might have been the goal of his life. His obsession.

And when his time was done, he would have died alone, under some tree, just like a dog.

What an awful fate!

He was made to be a true knight, he knew it. But without the help and the support of the Starks, where would he be? Drunk under some tavern’s table, serving a master without honour?

He had to find a way to escape this jail and rescue Sansa. He had to. Baelish might be a lord but he didn’t deserve her. Surely, King Robb would understand. If Sansa’s brother gave her to an honourable nobleman, he would say nothing. He would be brokenhearted, but he would watch her go knowing she would be happy. However, Petyr Baelish would only use her in one of his schemes. He wouldn’t treat her as she deserved.

Sandor wanted nothing more than to grab the former Master of coins by the collar and start beat him to death. But then, that wouldn’t be the behaviour of a true knight, would it? The Hound would behave that way, but not Sandor Clegane.

Where was this rage, this need for more violence, coming from? Really, this town had the worst influence on him. He needed the North’s fresh air on his skin, in his lungs, to feel alive. Here, even the air was corrupted.

Suddenly, Sandor heard his cell door open. A very little man entered.

A dwarf? Really? Did the Southern people send jesters to entertain the prisoners now? Sandor was astonished.

The dwarf raised his torch higher and Sandor recognized him.

He had been at Winterfell with the royal family. That man, as little as he was, was no jester, but the king’s Hand, Tyrion Lannister.

Sandor bowed his head in respect. He knew he should have put a knee to the ground and sworn loyalty to him and his family, but there was no way in the buggering seven hells he was ever going to do that. Even if it cost him his head, he was a Northerner and he would be one until the Great Other came and killed them all.

“My Lord Lannister”, Sandor said politely, but without the reverence expected when people from low birth spoke to noblemen.

The dwarf smiled and nodded.

“You remember me boy” he said to Sandor “Good. Then you must know what I can do for you too”

Sandor raised his head and looked straight into Tyrion Lannister’s mismatched eyes.

“I do, my lord, but I don’t want any of your help. I’m sworn to House Stark and I will be until the day of my death”

Sandor had pronounced those words with a lot of conviction, but obviously not enough for the dwarf to give up.

“Your loyalty is admirable indeed. So is your strength”, the little lord added, “I’ve seen you train at Winterfell. And your performance during Lord Stark’s tourney was truly impressive.”

If the dwarf thought flatteries would ever shake Sandor’s decision, he had been wrong. The boy stubbornly crossed his arms. He had made up his mind, couldn’t that buggering half-man get this?

Of course not! He was a Lannister, and so he believed everything had a price. Well, sorry my Lord, Sandor thought, but not me.

“Sandor, there is a battle coming. Lord Stannis Baratheon is going to come and try to take the city. Everybody is going to die.”

The dwarf’s voice was low and serious. Was he actually begging him for help? Sandor turned his back to the little lord, watching the stars once again. Yes, Stannis would kill them all. Wasn’t it what he had wished for a few moments ago?

“Not my city”, Sandor replied, “Not my business.”

Then he turned sharply towards Tyrion, meeting his stare.

“After all the things your family has done to the Starks, to Lord Eddard, to Lady Sansa, I think you got what you deserved.”

“Oh I know! I know, believe me! And I am sorry for that. Honestly.”

 

Sandor looked at the dwarf and saw that he was actually sincere. An honest Lannister? Who would have guessed?

“But there are not only bad, corrupted people in this town. There are also innocent women, maidens and mothers, children. Don’t you want to protect them?”

Sandor sighed and let himself fall back onto his bed. It was the duty of a true knight to protect the innocents. It was as if the buggering Lannister had seen right through his heart and chosen the right words.

Bloody dwarf!

Tyrion Lannister drew near and gave him a kindly smile

“Protect the people of King’s landing, boy and you will be rewarded.”

“I don’t want of your gold“, Sandor replied briskly. When would he understand that money didn’t interest him?

“I am not talking of gold. Even if, of course, the gold you won at the tourney will be given back to you. I am talking of a position in the Kinsguard. Or as Sworn shield to the king.”

Sandor had to laugh at such a proposition. He would have been honoured if the king had been a good one. Robb for instance. But that little brat? Never.

“Or maybe I could tell you where Lady Sansa is?”, Tyrion added with a knowing smile on his lips.

Sandor’s heart stopped beating in his chest. He had believed Sansa was safe, on the way to Winterfell, but what if she wasn’t?

“I thought I had been arrested for kidnapping her.”

Tyrion Lannister shrugged. “Well, yes, but then, how come Ser Gregor has decided to get married this evening if he has no bride?”

The dwarf chuckled as he saw the boy’s face turning white.

“You see, Ser Sandor, you do have someone dear to save in this town, after all.”

“I am no Ser” grumbled Sandor.

He hated to admit it, but the dwarf was right. He did have someone dear to his heart in this buggering town. Someone to save not only from Stannis but also from his brother.

“Give me back my sword and my horse and I will defend your bloody city.”

Sandor’s voice thundered in the cell as Tyrion Lannsiter shook his hand in agreement.

“But one more thing, Lord Lannister.”

He thought it was better if the things were straight right from the beginning. That way, this would be an honest deal, and Sandor loved honesty.

“I will swear you no oath. Not to you or to anyone of your buggering family. I am not your dog. Is that clear?”

Tyrion smiled to him and nodded.

“Crystal clear, my boy”, the dwarf chuckled, “Besides, everyone knows the Hound has only one mistress, isn’t that right?”

Sandor froze at this but did not comment. He had no time to waste. He had a fair lady to save and a whole city to defend.


	15. Chapter 15

Sansa felt her whole body shake, but it was not from the cold. She was scared. Already agitated by news of the approaching army, the city had been driven into a frenzy when Lord Stannis' boats finally came into view. All men had been drafted into preparing the defence of the city.

Her handmaiden had left the night before in order to be with her family. Sansa smiled, trying to picture the young girl with her mother and her little brother. She was so lucky. She would have someone's hand to hold when Lord Stannis' soldiers arrived. Sansa would have no one. She was all alone in her room, with nothing to do but pray.

She prayed to the Mother for her own mother and for Bran and Rickon, and she prayed to the Warrior for Robb and Sandor.

Sansa didn't know for whose victory she had to pray. Would Lord Stannis' victory mean her safe return to Winterfell or would some drunken soldier find her first and rape her before cutting her throat?

Suddenly, the door to her room opened and Sansa felt her heart stop in her chest as she recognized the tall figure of her betrothed.

The girl stoop, trying to hide her fear, but Gregor simply laughed and made a jest about his delight in her terror as he approached. He took her by the waist, crushing her against him.

"Gods, I can't wait to fuck you" he told her bluntly.

Sansa swallowed nervously, unable to speak. She knew that her eyes must betray her feelings. Fear. Fright. Dread. Pure terror.

If she was honest, she had to admit she had always dreaded the possibility that Gregor would not wait for the wedding and claim her maidenhood as soon as he could, especially after her escape with his brother.

Sansa had been more than happy when he hadn't. She had thought that he just didn't want her, that it was just a political match- a Northerner loyal to the Lannisters as master of Winterfell- and a way to humiliate her.

But, unfortunately for Sansa, she could now feel his obvious desire of her. It disgusted her. It was strange, really, that to be in such an intimate position with Sandor would have been very pleasant but was not with her future husband.

"You won't be my first lady", he said before starting to laugh again, "I wonder if you'll scream as much as my first wife did."

Sansa wanted to tell him that this was not the right way to talk about the woman you had sworn to love and protect, while you both stood before a septon, but she knew that she would have most likely paid a high price for such a comment.

"I killed her after, you know."

Gregor confessed this odious crime with a smirk on his face. It was clear that, in his mind, his wife's crying face had been replaced by Sansa's.

"Maybe I'll kill you too, once you've whelped."

His mouth was far too close to the girl's face for her taste. He smelled of bad wine and sweat. Sansa wanted to scream, to fight him with all her strength, but he was too strong. He could break her in two with his bare hands. If only Sandor had been there, he would never let him put his ugly paws on her.

"If I didn't know better, I'd take you now", Gregor said, "But with your little ride in the woods with my worm of a brother, people might think any pup inside of you is not mine."

Sansa's first instinct was to slap him. How could he dare think so lowly of her? Her mother and her septa had raised her with honour and principles. But then, Sansa remembered her kisses with Sandor in the woods. They had felt so right, so good. She had to admit that, if her champion had asked, she would have said yes and given him everything.

However, Sandor was a true knight. If she had been weak, he would have been there to save her from herself and from perdition.

Gregor snarled in her ear, his breath touching her skin, and Sansa felt revulsion rise inside of her. The girl closed her eyes tightly, trying to imagine she was far away. Yes, she was still in the woods, safe in Sandor's arms.

But the voice of his monstrous brother called her back to the dreadful reality.

"You better bleed during our wedding night, girl", he said, his terrible voice thundering "or I will make you bleed from elsewhere."

Then, he threw her on the ground as if she had been some lowly born wench before grabbing her neck, stopping her from breathing.

"All my instincts were telling me to fuck you and beat you when we found you in the woods. First you disappear with that little piece of dirt I have for a brother, and then I find you in Littlefinger's company. What kind of whore are you, Lady Sansa?"

He had pronounced her title with such irony and spite. Sansa thought it shouldn't touch her; after all, Gregor was a monster. Why should she care for what he thought of her? Unfortunately, Sansa was far too sensitive and thought that she had done nothing to deserve so much hatred.

Or had she? Once again, Sandor's burning kisses came to her mind. Her mother would have been ashamed of her behaviour. True, Gregor was no true knight, not even a lord, but he was her future husband and she had been willing to betray him.

Of course, this happened in the songs. Ladies fell in love with their champions and ran away with them. This was all very romantic but very far from what she had been told her behaviour must be.

She was supposed to be pure and untouched for her husband, whoever he was. She was supposed to be obedient and faithful to him, instead of dreaming of his brother.

But Gregor was a murderous beast. How could anyone expect her to love and respect him?

"I will take you once we are at Winterfell. And everyone will be there to see you bleed upon the sheets. That, I can promise you."

His grip on her neck was not as strong now. Gregor was already living their wedding night but Sansa didn't understand what he meant. "Everybody will be there". Surely, he couldn't mean that the event would be public.

As he saw his bride-to-be frown, Gregor roared with laughter and nodded, scaring Sansa even more.

"Seven hells, yes, girl, you got the right idea. I will invite everyone. I will chain your kingly brother if needed, but your whole family will be there when I fuck you. I want them to have no doubt that you're mine and that the pups you will bear are mine too."

He smirked, looking right into her eyes, before adding: "I want my brother to be there too. I want to see his face when I break your maidenhood."

As his unshaved cheek brushed against hers, he whispered that he had always desired her, even when she was a little girl and Sansa felt sick at such a revelation. She was the reason why he had burned his brother's face, he said. She was not supposed to be Sandor's friend. He was the first born and so, he believed firmly that she belonged to him.

Sansa's anger had never been so high. If she had to die, better die now than after their wedding. She would die the daughter of Ned Stark and not the wife of Gregor Clegane.

She felt a sharp knife at his belt. Sansa grabbed it and plunged it in his throat.

Gregor was surprised by the attack but his huge hands were quickly on her, trying to hit her, break her wrists, grasp her throat. However, Sansa held her knife tight. There was blood everywhere. On the floor, on her hands, on her dress, even on her face. She could even taste his blood on her lips. She felt nauseous.

Suddenly, she felt the blade hitting something hard. It was the stones of the pavement. Gregor gave a few little gasps and his enormous body shuddered before falling still

His eyes were now as icy as his heart had been. Ser Gregor was dead.

Sansa shivered. Clumsily, she clambered to her feet and put some space between herself and Gregor's corpse.

She looked at her bloodied hands and sobbed.

Outside, the fighting had started. Would the Lannisters stand a chance without Ser Gregor's amazing strength? Would his rats come to his house to fetch him? They would surely kill her when they found out what she had done.

She had to leave quickly. Taking a bag from her cupboard, she gathered some bread, cheese, a change of clothes and a skin of water before pulling a cloak tightly about her shoulders.

Once outside, she realized the night had fallen. But the streets were strangely illuminated by a greenish light that gave to the town a frightening look. The screams from soldiers and the poor civilians made the atmosphere even more nightmarish.

If she wanted to live, she had to find a horse and get out of this hell as quickly as she could.


	16. Chapter 16

This was Hell.

Sansa had once told him of her mother’s religion and of its seven hells. She had described one of them as a burning furnace but she had never said that its flames were green.

Sandor had always thought that that hell was the worst of all and sometimes, he found himself there in his nightmares.

The boy had always wished the people he hated the most to this hell. Gregor first, then the Lannisters and now Lord Baelish for stealing his Sansa.

And, quite ironically, he was the one ending up there.

Ever since Gregor had burned his face, he was terrified by fire. Sansa had once told him that every great warrior had a lone weakness. This weakness often meant the knight’s final death or, if he was able to overcome his fear, it could also bring him glory and fame.

And now he was standing, ready to fight, ready to die, in a city he hated, with men who were all strangers to him, waiting for those flames to devour the lot of them.

As Lord Tyrion shouted his orders to the soldiers, Sandor realized he couldn’t even hear him anymore. He was petrified.

Those green flames, this was madness. That crazy dwarf didn’t expect them to go out there, did he?

Sandor looked at the men around him. All young men, strong and trying to be brave. Trying to, yes, because, even if they had never been “kissed by fire”, they were as scared as he was.

Pissing in their pants, they surely were. But they’d do it. They would obey that damned dwarf’s orders. They would die in the name of the buggering bastard who had killed Lord Eddard.

What was he doing there, fighting side by side with his enemies?

Sandor was standing, Juvellia in his hands, waiting for the fighting to begin. There was no way they would survive this. They were all going to die and no one would remember any of them. He was born a Stark man, but would die a Lannister man. His ancestors’ shade would be ashamed and he would end up in hell. Another hell or one looking right like this one.

But Sansa… Sansa would be all alone, with no one to defend her against Gregor.

Bugger all this, he should be by her side, protecting her from the monster he had for a brother. However, he had given his word to Lord Tyrion, hadn’t he? A true knight never broke his word and Sansa would not want him to act in a dishonourable way.

What if Gregor raped her? Honour or not, he would never forgive himself.

Sandor pictured his little bird lying on her bed, tears running on her cheeks, her dress torn apart, her bones broken… The vision killed him. It was exactly what was going to happen if he let her stay with Gregor.

He could kill Gregor but nothing would bring his little bird back to him.

Sandor looked once again at his brothers-in-arms and made his decision. Maybe they were the true knights, after all. Their mothers, sisters, beloveds, they were most likely in danger too. And yet, they were staying. They knew they were most likely going to die in that green hell, and yet, they were ready to fight while all he wanted was to go.

The boy suddenly felt sad. He had always tried to respect the principle of chivalry but maybe those depraved drunks he had judged so severely when he first arrived in the city, were closer to the true knights’ ideals than he was.

A true knight’s main concern was his honour. Sandor’s was Sansa. It always had been and always would. He much preferred the idea of being Sansa’s honourless knight rather than a true knight without her.

He had to find Sansa quickly, before something dreadful happened to her.

As he tried to break through the ranks of his battalion, he heard Lord Tyrion shout a new order.

”Stannis’ men are coming! Be ready to fight, soldiers! For King’s Landing!”

Bugger it all. The damned dwarf had unleashed hell.

The soldiers roared, excited at the idea of fighting after such a long wait, or trying to find the courage necessary to face such a burning death.

Carried towards the enemy by his brothers-in-arms, Sandor felt his hope of saving Sansa leave him.

He was going to die in this hell, and Sansa was lost.

Sandor sighed and hefted Juvellia. He got what he wished for, he supposed. He would die a true knight, keeping his word and his honour.

He whispered a desperate prayer to the old Gods and even to the Warrior. He asked them to protect his beloved. He didn’t care about his own fate, but if something ever happened to his lady, he would never forgive himself.

Suddenly, one of Stannis’ men came towards him. Sandor swallowed and tightened his grip on Juvellia. It was time to fight.

The man was tall and heavily muscled, but so was Sandor. His opponent was obviously a very good swordman, strong and determined to kill him. However, Sandor was quick and swift, unburdened by his enemy’s heavy armour.

In a few minutes, the Baratheon man was on the ground, Juvellia at his neck. As Sandor prepared himself to kill his opponent, he saw the man’s eyes. They were a young man’s eyes, and he realized the man could not be much older than he was. Maybe he had a mother, a sister, maybe even a loving brother and father waiting for him. Maybe he had a beloved, blue-eyed and with fiery hair, thinking of him, longing for him.

Could he take this life in the name of a cause he didn’t believe in?

But those thoughts were a mistake. Quickly, his foe was back on his feet, mercilessly attacking him once again. The bastard’s blows were powerful, as if Sandor’s moment of weakness had given him more strength.

Well, if you want to die, Sandor thought bitterly, so be it.

Sandor disarmed his opponent, cutting his hand, before sinking his sword into the man’s heart.

This was the first time he had killed anyone and he thought it would have been natural to feel guilty about it. But, to his horror, he found out that he didn’t. He even took a bit of pleasure doing so.

Was he as monstrous as Gregor? Was he a born-killer? However, he had given the young knight a chance to run and save himself. He didn’t. He made his choice and paid for it with his life. Sandor surely couldn’t feel guilty for his foolishness.

As the noises from the fighting grew louder, Sandor realized his own duel had brought him down one of King’s Landing dark streets.

Maybe this was his chance to leave the battle and search for Sansa. The thought made him smile. He had fought in Lord Tyrion’s war, so he had kept his word. He could keep both his honour and find his lady. He just hoped he wouldn’t be too late to save her.

Suddenly, he saw a woman running from one of Stannis Baratheon’s men. She was screaming for help, desperate, dropping her bag in her haste.

He couldn’t let the soldier hurt her, even if Sandor doubted there was anyone truly innocent and worth saving in this buggering city.

Sandor’s gaze followed the soldier and saw the poor wench fall to the ground. She didn’t stand a chance. The bastard was going to rape her before killing her. He had to help her.

Sandor roared as he rushed to attack the soldier. The fight was short. Obviously, that coward was attacking women because he couldn’t stand on his own against a real opponent.

When he turned in the woman’s direction, he realized she was still sitting on the ground, her face buried in her knees. She was sobbing madly.

Sandor didn’t know what to do. Should he leave her alone or ask her if she was all right? By the old gods, he was losing time with some wench when Sansa needed him!

He gave a sigh, remembering it was a true knight’s duty to defend and take care of the innocents, Sandor knelt by the woman’s side.

“Are you all right?”

The wench was shaking though her reply was weak.

“Yes, now I am. Thank you, my Lord”, she said before strating to cry again.

But as he heard the voice, Sandor’s heart stopped in his chest. That voice! He knew it! Was it possible that, under those rags, was hidden his little bird?

“Sansa? Is that you?” Sandor asked, his voice shaking.

Slowly, the woman raised her head and Sandor couldn’t help but smile when he saw her beautiful face. Her eyes were sparkling with fresh tears, but the boy found out he didn’t care. She was alive and he arrived in time to save her.

He embraced her, holding her tightly in his arms.

He had his little bird back and no one would take her from him again.

No one.


	17. Chapter 17

Sansa couldn’t ever remember being so happy. Even when she was a little girl at Winterfell, before everything went wrong and she still believed in fairy tales, she had not been as happy as she was now. Never had her heart sung so many lovely melodies; never had the sun shone so brightly.

She was alive and safe, riding towards home on Stranger’s back, Sandor’s arm holding her tightly against him. Lady was running by their side, loyal as ever.

Sansa knew that real life was not a song, but she couldn’t help but think that this was very much something a bard would sing of. The valiant knight saving the beautiful princess, returning her safely to her family’s castle? Yes, this was just like in a song. Maybe, if she was lucky, Robb would grant a title to Sandor and let her marry him. After all, the true knight often got the fair maiden’s hand in marriage as a reward.

Sansa smiled, picturing Robb placing her hand in Sandor’s. With all their friends and family cheering, he would bend down to kiss her.

It would be perfect.

Lost in her daydreams, Sansa gave a sighand let herself settle back against Sandor’s broad chest. She felt his lips touch her neck, sending shivers along her spine. It was bliss. Turning her head to his, Sansa kissed Sandor and he reined Stranger in for a moment. His free hand drifted across her belly and then rose higher to her breasts.

Sansa moaned into his kiss, and her champion’s lips turned to her neck once again.

“I am flowered, you know” Sansa said breathlessly. She didn’t know exactly why she said it. Maybe to feel a bit more even with him. After all, he had participated in a tourney, he had saved her from King’s Landing... the people of Winterfell would most likely consider him a man now. So it was good that he knew that she too was grown.

Sandor was looking at her with burning eyes and she suddenly felt something growing hard against her back.

Was it what she thought it was? Sansa blushed. Did he desire her? If she was not mistaken, he obviously did. The idea made her feel exited and scared at the same time. Should she give herself to him?

Sandor’s hardness pressed against her back more and more and her nether regions seemed to suddenly catch fire. Sansa felt her whole body begin to tremble.

Gods, she needed him. If he asked her permission she would say yes, although she would try not to sound too wanton. After all, she was a lady, a princess now that her brother was king But while she was not some common wench, there was no way she could possibly refuse him.

But her mother, what would she say? She would be devastated if she ever knew that her daughter had lost her maidenhood in some wood, in the middle of nowhere.

Sansa gave a slight frown. However, if Robb let her marry Sandor, there was nothing wrong in taking a bit of an advance on the wedding night, was it? If her future betrothed wanted her here and now, who was she to deny him? Mostly when she did share his desire?

To Sansa’s disappointment, Sandor had stopped touching her. Had he changed his mind and decided to wait?

He dismounted from Stranger, dropping loosely to the ground before smiling back up at her. Sansa’s heart leapt happily in her chest as she saw his eyes sparkling and his arms open, waiting for her.

He grabbed her by the waist and held her tightly. Sansa raised her mouth to his and kissed him passionately, surrendering to her desire.

She didn’t even feel her feet hit the ground. All she could feel was Sandor’s lips on hers and his hands everywhere else.

Everything she had read or heard about kisses was paling in comparison with Sandor’s.

And it felt right.

Surely, Septa Mordane would have been outraged to see her behave like this. But nothing, not even her good manners, would stop her.

“The night is falling, Little Bird” Sandor whispered, his voice huskyin her ear.

Smiling happily, still held tightly in Sandor’s arms, Sansa let her head rest on his broad chest. She could hear the steady beating of his heart and thought that she had never hear a more smoothing lullaby.

She felt safe, warm and loved. What else could she wish for? Gregor would not come to take her back now that she had killed him.

She had killed him. Him. Sandor’s brother!

Gods, what had she done? Sandor had never loved his brother, but could he love the woman who had killed him? What she ruined everything?

Did he know? Did he know she had his brother’s blood on her hands?

Obviously, Sandor didn’t, as his lips descended on her neck, biting and licking her tender skin.

No, he doesn’t, Sansa thought. If he did, he would be disgusted with her. She was a murderer.

Of course, Gregor had been a monster, but he was also part of Sandor’s family. Her friend would never forgive her. She would lose him as she had lost her father, Septa Mordane and Arya.

She couldn’t lose him. If she ever did, she’d die. She knew she would.

No, no, he could never know. But what would she say when he or someone else asked what happened to her betrothed?

Her only chance was to lie. But Sandor always knew when she was lying, didn’t he? He would certainly hate her even more. A murderer and a liar! She felt disgusted by herself.

Sansa’s thoughts were distracted by Sandor’s hands on her breasts.

Gods, it felt so good. Did it really have to end? Did all the good things in her life have to end so abruptly?

Suddenly, Sandor stopped and frowned at her. Her cloak had fallen on the ground and now, he was staring at her bloodied dress.

“Is it your blood?” Sandor asked with worry.

Sansa felt her whole body starting to shake. She bent her head, unable to face Sandor’s gaze.

What was she going to do? What was she going to tell him?

Sandor took softly but firmly her chin between his fingers and raised her eyes to his. But Sansa kept her eyes closed, her face turned away from his. She felt so ashamed. She would never dare to tell him the truth.

But she had to, didn’t she? If Sandor truly loved her the way it seemed he did, maybe he would one day forgive her.

Sansa shook her head nervously and began to cry.

She heard Sandor sigh and felt his gloved hand stroke her tears away before he embraced her again.

She was warm and safe now, but she knew it couldn’t last. She had to tell him the truth. If she lost his love, at least she wouldn’t lose his respect.

Gathering all her courage, Sansa met Sandor’s eyes for the first time. She saw his worry and she felt even sorrier. He was more than her champion, he was her best friend. This embrace they were sharing might be their last.

Standing on her tiptoes, Sansa kissed him one last time before pulling away.

“I have to confess something awful, Sandor.”

Sansa tried to keep her voice steady, even if her emotions were pushing her towards breaking down.

Sandor, suddenly serious, nodded as to give her a sign to go on.

“First, I have to tell you that I love you and that I always will. I hope you will find the strength to forgive me.”

That was it, her voice was breaking and the tears were falling down her cheeks.

“Gregor came to me,” Sansa whispered. She didn’t need to clarify which Gregor she was talking about. The terror in her voice and in her eyes told Sandor all he needed to know.

“He…” Sansa stopped a moment, trying to control her nerves. “He told me of our wedding night.”

A flash of anger passed through Sandor’s grey eyes. Sansa had no doubt this fury was directed at his brother and not her. It gave her more strength and she went on.

“He said he would make everyone watch. My family, you, all our friends. He also said he’d kill me if I didn’t bleed during….”

Sansa was shaking again, remembering the awful conversation. But when Sandor gently took her hands and she smiled and calmed herself.

But then, she realized what she had to tell him. The Gods only knew how he would react to such a revelation.

“He said I was the reason why he put your face in the embers.”

Sandor’s face was frozen, unreadable. Was he angry at her? Did he blame her for what happened to him?

Sansa hesitantly raised her hand towards Sandor and stroked his burned cheek. She had tears in her eyes.

“I killed him,” she heard herself say.

Confessing her crime had come more naturally than she had first thought, though she could feel her tears falling freely. Sansa was staring at Sandor, waiting for him to say something, do something.

But he didn’t. He was just looking at her blankly, standing still when all she longed for were his arms around her.

He seemed to breathe deeply. Was he trying to rein in his anger towards her? Sansa thought that she would rather if he insulted her rather than this unbearable silence. At least, she would know his hate for sure instead of hoping for his forgiveness.

Suddenly, Sandor moved towards Stranger and jumped on his horse back.

Was he going to leave her alone in those woods, so close to King’s Landing?

Then she saw his arm outstretched towards her.

“Come”, he said, frighteningly composed. “We’ve got to put as much distance as we can between us and King’s Landing.”

“Don’t you want to sleep?” Sansa nervously asked.

Her dreams of burning kisses and passionate embrace were far away now, but they both needed to rest and Stranger couldn’t race in the dark.

Sandor sniggered at her question before pulling her on the horse.

“Gregor’s rats will come for you, Sansa. They might not know what you did, but they know for sure you were the last one to be in Gregor’s company. They might want to avenge their master.”

Sansa nodded, suddenly nervous. She didn’t know if she was happy not to be able to see his face anymore.

He had told her nothing about how he felt about Gregor’s death and the part she had played in it.

He just saved her again, as any true knight would. But their romance was most likely over and it broke Sansa’s heart.


	18. Chapter 18

They had been riding for what seemed like ages to Sandor. Weeks.

Weeks during which he and Sansa had not exchanged a word. He had never known it was possible to be so close and so far from a person at the same time.

If he had been a real true knight, the distance wouldn’t have mattered. A true knight slept with his sword between him and his lady. A true knight didn’t dream of her naked, her silky skin beneath his hands and her ivory legs spread for him.

No, he wouldn’t.

A true knight would have also been very happy with their boring daily routine.

On each morning of their travel, Sandor awoke in the morning and tended to Stranger. He prepared them some breakfast and once Sansa had woken, they ate in silence.

It was this silence that was killing him.

Of course, it was his fault. He hadn’t said a word to her since she had told him about Gregor. But if he were honest, he had to admit he just couldn’t find the right words. What was he supposed to say?

What would the Dragon Knight have said if his lady love had killed the monster in his stead? Would he have taken her in his arms? Would he have told her he was sorry he had been so late? Would he have just stayed silent and let her talk first?

Obviously, she didn’t want to talk. If she wanted to, she would, wouldn’t she? His little bird had always loved to talk and no one had ever been able to stop her.

Seven buggering hells, he was shit at this stuff.

The fact was he felt guilty. They wouldn’t have been in this embarrassing situation in the first place if he had been there in time. Sansa shouldn’t have been the one to kill Gregor. He should have done it. While it would have left him a kinslayer, his lady’s hands would have stayed clean.

Bugger it all, he was supposed to protect her, kill all the people who would dare to threaten her. She wasn’t supposed to be the one to take the sword and slay her enemies!

And yet, she had done it, his brave bird. She had killed Gregor and freed them all from the odious bastard. This never happened that way in the songs. Well, there were actually a few exceptions. Sandor smiled, thinking of his Sansa as the new queen Alysanne, strong and fierce. A warrior queen.

Once again, he felt unworthy of her. Not only she was of high birth and a beauty without compare, but now, she was a heroine, slayer of the Mountain He was nothing, not even a true knight.

A few months ago, he would have never imagined his lady being able to kill a man in cold blood, but now, here she was, killing her enemies on her own, without the help of a knight to protect her.

The Lannisters might condemn Sansa for Gregor’s death, but it was no murder. His brother would have raped her and killed her sooner or later, she had only defended herself.

The ugly beast had not been killed by the knight but by the damsel in distress. How epic this story was! This was better than any song he had ever heard. Wherever Lord Stark’s shade was, he should be proud of his daughter.

His own father, however, would be very upset, as he was when Lord Stark had exiled his firstborn. Of course, he had still a son, but Sandor knew that Gregor had always been the favourite. Monster or not, Gregor would be mourned by at least one person in this damn kingdom.

If only he could find the right words to express to his admiration and his love to Lady Sansa. But every time he opened his buggering mouth, he shut it right away, thinking himself foolish.

Sandor gave a deep sigh as he looked around him. The fucking Riverlands. They were still so far from Winterfell! And the bloody, buggering Lions had won their fucking war!

Amazing! Sandor thought bitterly. When he and Sansa had run away from their damned capital, all had seemed lost for them. And yet, thanks to the thorny Roses, they had won.

Now, they were in trouble. And so was King Robb. Sandor couldn’t wait to be home, not only to deliver Sansa safely to her family, but also to join his king’s troops. Maybe then, he would be able to demonstrate his military skills and win a title and some lands. If he became an indispensable asset and a part of the King’s victory, perhaps he would allow him to court his sister and eventually marry her.

But this was all a foolish dream, wasn’t it? Robb would most likely give her to a high lord to ensure an alliance. A Bolton or a Frey. He might have broken his promise to marry a Frey maid, but Lady Catelyn would make sure that his sister did not display the same folly.

Sansa, as beautiful as ever, was tending to the fire. They would have to leave soon if they didn’t want the Lannisters’ men to catch them.

However, all Sandor would think about were Sansa’s fiery tresses, how silky they were and how soft they would be under his fingers.

Suddenly, he froze, hearing a suspicious noise from a nearby groveof trees.

It could have been an animal but he didn’t want to take any risks. Gesturing at Sansa to stay silent and to hide somewhere with Lady, he took Juvelia in his hand and walked slowly in the grove’s direction.

In an instant, a small brown figure jumped on Sandor and knocked him to the ground, disarming him in the process. Sandor used his greater bulk to roll over and pin his opponent to the grass. Then he saw his terrible foe’s face and he began to laugh.

Arya Stark had never been very feminine, but to see her with short hair and men’s clothes? That was too much. Sandor couldn’t stop his laughter, even when the girl started to strike him again.

From the corner of his eye, he saw his little bird coming out of hiding and he tried to calm down.

At first, Sansa didn’t recognize her sister but when she did, she nearly fainted. Both Arya and Sandor came to her help, arguing with each other over the right to hold her.

Lady whimpered slightly when she saw the state of her mistress and came to lick her face.

“Here, here, girl,” Sandor told the direwolf. “She’s fine. She just saw a ghost.”

The boy chuckle as Arya threw him a murderous look.

“Know that I have killed men, Clegane!” Arya thundered at her old friend.

Sandor shuggered and gave Arya his most winning smile

“So did I,” said the boy proudly. It was a lie, actually. He had only killed one man, but he was quite sure that Arya was exaggerating her prowess too. He just couldn’t let himself look weaker than a little girl, wild as she was, in front of his Sansa.

“So did I,” said a weak voice.

Arya turned her head sharply in her sister’s direction, a look of utter disbelief on her face.

“You? You killed a man?” she asked, still shocked.

Sansa nodded as she tried to stand on her own.

“My betrothed.”

Arya laughed at the news.

“I didn’t know King Joffrey was dead. Good riddance and congratulations, Sansa. Here is a name to remove from my list.”

Sansa sobbed at those words and threw herself in her sister’s arms.

“No, not Joffrey. Oh Gods, Arya, you’re alive! You’re here! You’re alive!” Sansa replied, tears falling freely on her pale cheeks.

Arya, too, seemed quite touched by the reunion, even if she tried to hide her emotions.

“I am happy to see you too, Sansa,” Arya’s voice shook a little as she replied.

Sandor stepped aside, letting the Stark girls enjoy their reunion. They hugged each other fiercely, not willing to let go. The two girls, who had quarreled each other their whole childhood over nothing and everything, seemed to finally realize they were the two sides of the same coin.

Good.

He would deliver both Stark girls to Winterfell. Or to Riverrun, since it was the closest safe placeand King Robb was there.

Lord Umber would be pleased.

He might be not a true knight, but he would successfully complete his first quest, and that made Sandor Clegane really very happy.


End file.
